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-i\ 



This is for You 



This is for You 

Love Poems of the Saner Sort 

Selected by 

William Sinclair Lord 
3P= — — ^ A t T ^ 



> ) o 



Chicago • New York • Toronto 

Fleming H. Revell Company 
1902 



Copyrighted igo2 

By Fleming H. Reyell Company 

(September) 



^%x<^' 



.V 



THTuSSARY vOF| 
CONGRESS, I 

'oCT, 3 1902 

. ;.Cv..;.. -.0. 



UNIVERSITY PRESS • JOHN WILSON 
AND SON • CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 



THE compiler and the publisher ac- 
knowledge their indebtedness to authors 
and publishers for permission to use 
the several copyrighted poems. 
The selections from Arlo Bates, Thomas Bailey 
Aldrich, Elizabeth A. Allen, George Arnold, 
Phoebe Gary, Francis Bret Harte, John Hay, 
Lucy Larcom, James Russell Lowell, Frances 
L. Mace, Carlotta Perry, Nora Perry, J. J. Piatt, 
J. G. Saxe, Frank Dempster Sherman, Edward 
Rowland Sill, Edmund Clarence Stedman, 
Bayard Taylor, Edith M. Thomas, J. G. Whit- 
tier, and E. S. P. Ward, are used by permission 
of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, 
Mifflin & Co., publishers of their works ; from 
Emily Dickinson, Sarah Channing Woolsey, 
. and Helen Hunt Jackson, with Little, Brown, 
& Co., publishers ; from Frank L. Stanton and 
James Whitcomb Riley, with Bowen-Merrill 



Acknowledgments 



Co., publishers; from Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 
with W. B. Conkey Company, publishers; from 
Paul Hamilton Hayne, with D. Lothrop & Co., 
publishers; from Richard Watson Gilder, with 
The Century Co., publishers; from Ernest Mc- 
GajfFey,with Dodd,Mead & Co., publishers; from 
Charles H. Crandall, with G. P. Putnam's Sons, 
publishers. Acknowledgments are also due to 
the following authors for the use of their work : 
Robert Burns Wilson, James V. Blake, Lily A. 
Long, Minot J. Savage, and Mary Aigne De 
Vere. 



VI 



CONTENTS 



Sad Are They Who Know Not 

Love Thomas B, Aldrich 

Four Words Elixaheth Akers Allen 

There Is a Garden in Her Face . Richard Allison 
Not Ours the Vows .... Bernard Barton 



How Many Times .... Thomas Lo<vell Beddoes 7 

The Worn Wedding-Ring . . William C. Bennett . 8 

Wedded James V, Blake . . 12 

Afterglow Charles G. Blanden . 13 

Time may Steal the Dewy Bloom Charles G. Blanden . 14 

Light Francis IV, Bourdillion 15 

Song Robert Bro^wning . . 16 

There's a Woman Like a Dew- 
drop . . Robert Broavning . • 17 

My Wife's a Winsome, Wee 

Thing Robert Burns ... 19 

True Love ....... Phcebe Cary ... 20 

Snow and Sun Mortimer Collins . . 22 

The Fireside Nathaniel Cotton . . 23 

I Love You, Dear . . , . . George W, Crofts . . 27 

A Woman's Gifts Mary Ainge De Vere . 28 

Constant Emily Dickinson . . 29 

Love Charles Sivain . . 30 

Oh, Love Is Not a Summer Mood Richard IVatson Gilder 32 

vii 



Page 



Contents 



Page 

Love's Autumn Paul Hamilton Hayne . 33 

Song Thomas Heynjuood . . 36 

Better Things Leigh Hunt' ... 37 

Love's Fulfilling Helen Hunt Jackson . 39 

Two Truths Helen Hunt Jackson , 41 

Entre Nous Sophie Je^wett 

{Ellen Burroughs^ . 42 
Dolcino to Margaret .... Charles Kingsley . . 43 

Perfect Love Archibald Lampman . 44 

The Spirit of the House . . . Archibald Lampman . 45 

To Dianeme Robert Herrick . . 46 

Love James Russell Lo^well 47 

The Sea-Shell George Macdonald . 49 

Thy Song Frances Laughton Mace 5 1 

5^ 
53 
SS 
57 
58 
60 
61 



Gone Charles Mackay 

O, Lay Thy Hand in Mine, Dear! Gerald Massey . 
As for Me, I Have a Friend . . Ernest McGaffey 

To Florence Joaquin Miller 

Forget Thee John Moultrie . 

Love's Meaning Carlotta Perry . 

A Book of Gold John James Piatt 

The Poet's Song to His Wife . B, W. Procter 

{Barry Cornnjuall) . 62 
A Birthday Christina Georgiana 

Rossetti .... 64 
If I Desire with Pleasant Songs . Thomas Burbidge . 6$ 
How Do I Love Thee ? . . . Elizabeth Barrett 

Bro'wning , . . 67 
When She Gomes Home . . . James Whitcomh Riley 68 

viii 



Contents 



Love's Return Minoi J. Salvage 

Friendship Shakespeare 

O Mistress Mine Shakespeare 

Life Edward R. Sill 

The Love Lights of Home . . Frank L. Stanton 

Laura, My Darling .... Edmund C, Stedman 

Song from a Drama .... Edmund C. Stedman 

My True Love Hath My Heart . Sir Philip Sidney . 

Possession Bayard Taylor 



We KissM Again with Tears . Alfred, Lord Tennyson 83 

The Memory of the Heart . . Daniel Webster . . 84 

Love Is Enough Ella Wheeler Wilcox . 85 

Among the Heather .... George Arnold ... 87 

One Arlo Bates . *.. . . 88 

Come to Me, Dearest .... Joseph Brennan . . 89 

How It Happened John Hay .... 92 

If Thou Wert by My Side . . Reginald Heber . . 95 

Like a Laverock in the Lift . . Jean Ingelo^w ... 97 

Absence . . Frances Anne Kemble . 99 

In Absence Archibald Lampman . loi 

His Reverie Lily A, Long . . . 102 

The Brookside Richard Monckton 

Milnes {Lord Hough- 

ton) 105 

Good Bye T^homas Moore . . 107 

I Knew by the Smoke, That so 

Gracefully Curled .... Thomas Moore , . . 108 

What Shall I Do for My Love ? Lenvis Morris . . . no 

A Love Symphony .... Arthur O" Shaughnessy in 

ix 



Page 
69 
70 

71 
72 

73 
75 
78 
80 
81 



Contents 



Song 

A Letter 

King and Slave 

A New Year's Burden . . . 
A Madrigal 

A Match 

O Swallow, Flying South . 

The Heart's Call 

**For Better, for Worse" 

Love's Silence 

To Love 

Benedicite 

Love's Coming . . . . 

A Song 

Of Such as I Have . . . . 

Somebody ....... 

Love Lightens Labor .... 

The Wife to Her Husband . . 

The Golden Fish 

Won't You? 

A Maiden's Ideal of a Husband 
The Fair Copyholder .... 
The Chess-Board 



Thomas Loue Peacock 
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 
Adelaide A, Procter . 
Dante Gabriel Rossetti 
Frank Dempster Sher- 
man .... 
Algernon Charles Sivin 

burne 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 
Edith M. Thomas 
Ellen Thorneycroft 

Fonjuler . 
Augusta Webster . 
Henry Kirke White 
John Greenleaf Whit- 
tier .... 
Ella Wheeler Wilcox 
Robert Burns Wilion 
Sarah Channifig Wool- 

sey 
Anonymous . 
Anonymous . 
Anonymous . 
George Arnold 
Thomas Haynes Bayly 
Henry Carey . 
Charles H, Crandall 
Robert Bul<Tjuer, Lord 
Lyttony O^wen Meredith 



Pack 
113 
114 
116 
118 



125 
127 

129 
132 
133 

134 
137 
139 

141 

142 
144 

147 
149 
150 

151 

152 

154 



Contents 



Why ? Mary Louise Ritter 

Jimmy's Wooing Will Wallace Harney 

What the Wolf Really Said to 

Little Red Riding-Hood . . Francis Bret Harte 
How Strange It Will Be . • . Frank E, Holliday 
The Old Story Over Again . , James Henry . 
The Little Brown Cabin . . . Lucy Larcom . 

The Love-Knot Nora Perry 

Si, Do, Re . Mrs, B, C. Rude . 

My Eyes ! How I Love You ! . Jo/in Godfrey Saxe 
Wife, Children, and Friends . . William R, Spencer 



Pack 
156 

157 

160 
162 

165 

167 
169 
171 

173 
^7S 



XI 



SAD ARE THEY WHO 
KNOW NOT LOVE 

OSAD are they who know not love, 
But, far from passion's tears and 
smiles. 
Drift down a moonless sea, and pass 
The silver coasts of fairy isles. 

And sadder they whose longing lips 

Kiss empty air, and never touch 
The dear warm mouth of those they love 

Waiting, wasting, suffering much ! 

But clear as amber, sweet as musk^ 
Is life to those whose lives unite ; 

They walk in Allah's smile by day. 
And nestle in his heart by night. 

Thomas B. Aldrich. 



This Is For Tou 



B 



FOUR WORDS 

ELOVED, the briefest words are best ; 
And all the fine euphonious ways 
In which the truth has been expressed 
Since Adam's early Eden days, 
Could never match the simple phrase, — 
Sweetheart, I love you ! 

If I should say the world were blank 

Without your face ; if I should call 
The stars to witness, rank on rank. 

That I am true although they fall, — 
'T would mean but this, — and this means 
all,— 
Sweetheart, I love you ! 

And so, whatever change is wrought 
By time or fate, delight or dole. 
One single, happy, helpful thought 

Makes strong and calm my steady soul. 
And these sweet words contain the 
whole, — 
Sweetheart, I love you ! 

2 



Four Words 



I will not wrong their truth to-day 

By wild, impassioned vows of faith, 

Since all that volumes could convey 

Is compassed thus in half a breath, 
Which holds and hallows life and death, — 
Sweetheart, I love you ! 

Elizabeth Akers Allen. 



This Is For Ton 



THERE IS A GARDEN 
IN HER FACE 

THERE is a garden in her face, 
Where roses and white lilies blow ; 
A heavenly paradise is that place, 
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow ; 
There cherries grow that none may buy. 
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cr)\ 

Those cherries fairly do enclose 

Of orient pearl a double row, 
Which when her lovely laughter shows, 

They look like rosebuds filled with snow ; 
Yet them no peer nor prince may buy. 
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 

Her eyes like angels watch them still. 

Her brows like bended bows do stand. 
Threatening with piercing frowns to kill 

All that approach with eye or hand 
These sacred cherries to come nigh. 
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 

Richard Allison. 
4 



Not Ours the Vows 



NOT OURS THE VOWS 

NOT ours the vows of such as plight 
Their troth in sunny weather, 
While leaves are green, and skies are 
bright, 
To walk on flowers together. 

But we have loved as those who tread 

The thorny path of sorrow. 
With clouds 5bove, and cause to dread 

Yet deeper gloom to-morrow. 

That thorny path, those stormy skies, 

Have drawn our spirits nearer; 
And rendered us, by sorrow's ties, 

Each to the other dearer. 

Love, born in hours of joy and mirth. 

With mirth and joy may perish ; 
That to which darker hours gave birth 

Still more and more we cherish. 



T^his Is For Tou 



It looks beyond the clouds of time, 
And through death's shadowy portal ; 

Made by adversity sublime, 
By faith and hope immortal. 

Bernard Barton. 



How Many Times 



HOW MANY TIMES 

HOW many times do I love thee, dear? 
Tell me how many thoughts there be 
In the atmosphere 
Of a new-fallen year, 
Whose white and sable hours appear 

The latest flake of Etef nity : 
So many times do I love thee, dear. 

Flow many times do I loVfe, again ? 
Tell me how many beads there are 
In a silver chain 
Of the evening rain, 
Unravelled from the tumbling main. 

And threading the eye of a yellow star : 
So many times do I love, again. 

Thomas Lovell Beddoes. 



^h. 

w 



This Is For Tou 



THE WORN WEDDING-RING 



YOUR wedding-ring wears thin, dear wife; 
ah, summers not a few, 
Since I put it on your finger first, have 
passed o'er me and you; 
And, love, what changes we have seen, — what 

cares and pleasures, too, — 
Since you became my own dear wife, when this 
old ring was new ! 

O, blessings on that happy day, the happiest of 

my life. 
When, thanks to God, your low, sweet " Yes '' 

made you my loving wife ! 
Your heart will say the same, I know; that day 's 

as dear to you, — 
That day that made me yours, dear wife, when 

this old ring was new. 
8 



T^he Worn Wedding-Ring 

How well do I remember now your young sweet 

face that day ! 
How fair you were, how dear you were, m^ 

tongue could hardly say ; 
Nor how I doated on you ; O, how proud I was 

of you ! 
But did I love you more than now, when this 

old ring was new ? 

No — no ! no fairer were you then than at this 

hour to me; 
And, dear as life to me this day, how could you 

dearer be ? 
As sweet your face might be that day as now it 

is, 't is true ; 
But did I know your heart as well when this old 

ring was new ? 

O partner of my gladness, wife, what care, what 

grief is there 
For me you would not bravely face, with me 

you would not share ? 
O, what a weary want had every day, if wanting 

you. 
Wanting the love that God made mine when 

this old ring was new ! 
9 



This Is For Ton 



Years bring fresh links to bind us, wife, — ^ young 

voices that are here ; 
Young faces round our fire that make their 

mother's yet more dear ; 
Young loving hearts your care each day makes 

yet more like to yoy, 
More like the loving heart made mine when this 

old ring was new. 

And blessed be God ! all he has given are with 

us yet ; around 
Our table every precious life lent to us still is 

found. 
Though care we Ve known, with hopeful hearts 

the worst we 've struggled through ; 
Blessed be his name for all his love since this 

old ring was new ! 

The past is dear, its sweetness still our memo- 
ries treasure yet ; 

The griefs we 've borne, together borne, we 
would not now forget. 

Whatever, wife, the future brings, heart unto 
heart still true. 

We'll share as we have shared all else since this 
old ring was new. 

lO 



The IVorn Wedding-Ring 

And if God spare us 'mongst our sons and daugh- 
ters to grow old, 

We know his goodness will not let your heart 
or mine grow cold. 

Your aged eyes will see in mine all they Ve still 
shown to you, 

And mine in yours all they have seen since this 
old ring was new. 

And O, when death shall come at last to bid me 

to my rest. 
May I die looking in those eyes, and resting on 

that breast ; 
O, may my parting gaze be blessed with the 

dear sight of you. 
Of those fond eyes, — fond as they were when 

this old ring was new ! 

William C. Bennett. 




II 



This Is For Tou 



WEDDED 

HE took in both hands her lovely head, 
And looked in her eyes serene, 
Many years married, but still as fond 
As the foolish boy had been. 

And " O my dear," said he, " and my love, 
My dear sw^et love and my v^^ife, 

If every kiss were a golden coin, 
You would be rich for life. 

" Nay, if of every kiss I have given 

Each were but a single penny, 
You would be rich with riches to spare — 

Sweet wife, think how many, how many ! " 

" Yea, truly," she said, " yet I M not barter one. 
While I bind up my sheaves of caresses ; 

But there's many, oh, many a poor rich wife 
Who would give all of her gold for the kisses." 

James V. Blake. 

12 



Afterglow 



AFTERGLOW 

I PRAY that time full many years may 
bring. 
And round about us heap his flowers and 
snow. 
That we a-down the western slope may go. 
Clasped hand in hand, as in that joyous spring 

When first together we did learn to sing 
The songs of youth beside the river's flow ; 
The songs our hearts unto the end shall know. 
If now no more the woodlands with them 
ring. 

And we shall sit on many a golden eve 

Beside the fire, and dream of other days 
When we were young, and laugh a wrinkled 

laugh, 
Nor mourn, nor sigh that loud the winds do 
grieve. 
For thou shalt more than multiply the Mays, 
And I the long Decembers count but half. 

Charles G. Blanden. 
13 



This Is For Tou 



TIME MAY STEAL THE 
DEWY BLOOM 

TIME may steal the dewy bloom 
Of all our summer roses ; 
He can never bring to doom 
Hearts where love reposes. 

He may shower us with dole, 

He may rack the bosom ; 
He can never from the soul 

Shake one tender blossom. 

He can never raise the bar 

To that inner garden ; 
He can never hope to mar 

Hearts where love is warden. 

Therefore let us not deplore 

Any stress of weather. 

But, securing fast the door. 

Laugh at him together. 

Charles G. Blanden. 
14 



Light 



LIGHT 



THE night has a thousand eyes. 
And the day but one ; 
Yet the light of the bright world dies 
With the dying sun. 

The mind has a thousand eyes. 

And the heart but one ; 
Yet the light of a whole life dies 

When love is done. 

Francis W. Bourdillion. 



IS 



This Is For You 



SONG 



THE moth's kiss, first ! 
Kiss me as if you made believe 
You were not sure, this eve. 
How my face, your flower, had pursed 
Its petals up \ so, here and there 
You brush it, till I grow aware 
Who wants me, and wide open burst. 

The bee's kiss, now ! 
Kiss me as if you entered gay 
My heart at some noonday, 
A bud that dares not disallow 
The claim, so all is rendered up. 
And passively its shattered cup 
Over your head to sleep I bow. 

Robert Browning. 



i6 



There 's a Woman Like a Dewdrop 



THERE'S A WOMAN 
LIKE A DEWDROP 

THERE 's a woman like a dewdrop — 
she 's so purer than the purest ; 
And her noble heart ^s the noblest — 
yes, and her sure faith 's the surest ; 
And her eyes are dark and humid, like the depth 

on depth of lustre 
Hid i' the harebell, while her tresses, sunnier 

than the wild-grape cluster. 
Gush in golden-tinted plenty down her neck's 

rose-tinted marble ; 
Then her voice's music — call it the well's 
bubbling, the bird's warble ! 

And this woman says : '' My days were sunless 
and my nights were moonless. 

Parched the pleasant April herbage, and the 
lark's heart's outbreak tuneless, 
% 17 



This Is For Tou 



If you loved me not ! " And I who (ah for 
words of flame) adore her, 

Who am mad to lay my spirit prostrate palpably 
before her, — 

I may enter at her portal soon, as now her lat- 
tice takes me, 

And by noontide as by midnight make her mine, 
as hers she makes me ! 

Robert Browning. 




i8 



My Wife^s a Winsome Wee Thing 



MY WIFE'S A WINSOME 
WEE THING 

SHE is a winsome wee thing. 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

I never saw a fairer, 

I never lo'ed a dearer. 

And neist my heart I '11 wear her, 

For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing. 
She is a handsome wee thing. 
She is a bonnie wee thing. 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

The warld's wrack we share o't. 
The warstle and the care o't : 
Wi' her I '11 blythely bear it. 
And think my lot divine. 

Robert Burns. 
19 



rhis Is For Ton 



TRUE LOVE 

I THINK true love is never blind. 
But rather brings an added light, 
An inner vision quick to find 
The beauties hid from common sight. 

No soul can ever clearly see 

Another's highest, noblest part ; 

Save through the sweet philosophy 
And loving wisdom of the heart. 

Your unanointed eyes shall fall 

On him who fills my world with light ; 
You do not see my friend at all. 

You see what hides him from your sight. 

I see the feet that fain would climb ; 

You but the steps that turn astray ; 
I see the soul, unharmed, sublime ; 

You, but the garment and the clay. 
20 



True Love 



You see a mortal, weak, misled, 
Dwarfed ever by the earthly clod \ 

I see how manhood, perfected. 
May reach the stature of a god. 

Blinded I stood, as now you stand. 

Till on mine eyes, with touches sweet. 

Love, the deliverer, laid his hand. 
And lo! I worship at his feet. 

Phcebe Gary. 



21 



This Is For T^ou 



SNOW AND SUN 

FAST falls the snow, O Lady mine ! 
Sprinkling the lawn with crystals fine : 
But by the gods ! we won't repine, 
While we're together; 
We '11 chat and rhyme and kiss and dine, 
Defying weather ! 

So stir the fire and pour the wine ! 
And let those sea-green eyes divine 
Pour their love-madness into mine ! 

I don't care whether 
'T is snow or sun or rain or shine, 

If we 're together. 

Mortimer Collins. 



i 



22 



T!he Fireside 



THE FIRESIDE 

DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd, 
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud, 
In folly's maze advance ; 
Though singularity and pride 
Be called our choice, we '11 step aside. 
Nor join the giddy dance. 

From the gay world we '11 oft retire 
To our own family and fire. 

Where love our hours employs ; 
No noisy neighbor enters here. 
No intermeddling stranger near, 

To spoil our heartfelt joys. 

If solid happiness we prize. 
Within our breast this jewel lies, 

And they are fools who roam ; 
The world hath nothing to bestow, — 
From our own selves our bliss must flow, 

And that dear hut, our home, 
23 



this Is For r 



ou 



Of rest was Noah's dove bereft, 
When with impatient wing she left 

That safe retreat, the ark ; 
Giving her vain excursion o'er. 
The disappointed bird once more 

Explored the sacred bark. 

Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers. 
We, who improve his golden hours, 

By sweet experience know 
That marriage, rightly understood, 
Gives to the tender and the good 

A paradise below. 

Our babes shall richest comforts bring ; 
If tutored right, they '11 prove a spring 

Whence pleasures ever rise : 
We '11 form their minds, with studious care, 
To all that 's manly, good, and fair. 

And train them for the skies. 

While they our wisest hours engage. 
They'll joy our youth, support our age, 

And crown our hoary hairs : 
They '11 grow in virtue every day. 
And thus our fondest loves repay. 

And recompense our cares. 
24 



The Fireside 



No borrowed joys, they 're all our own, 
While to the world we live unknown, 

Or by the world forgot : 
Monarchs ! we envy not your state ; 
We look with pity on the great, 

And bless our humbler lot. 

Our portion is not large, indeed ; 
But then how little do we need, 

For nature's calls are few ; 
In this the art of living lies. 
To want no more than may suffice. 

And make that little do. 

We 'II therefore relish with content 
Whate'er kind Providence has sent. 

Nor aim beyond our power ; 
For, if our stock be very small, 
'T is prudence to enjoy it all, 

Nor lose the present hour. 

To be resigned when ills betide, 
Patient when favors are denied, 

And pleased with favors given — 
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part. 
This is that incense of the heart. 

Whose fragrance smells to heaven. 

25 



This Is For Tou 



We '11 ask no long-protracted treat. 
Since winter-life is seldom sweet ; 

But when our feast is o'er. 
Grateful from table we'll arise, 
Nor grudge our sons with envious eyes 

The relics of our store. 

Thus, hand in hand, through life we '11 go ; 
Its checkered paths of joy and woe 

With cautious steps we '11 tread ; 
Quit its vain scenes without a tear. 
Without a trouble or a fear. 

And mingle with the dead : 

While Conscience, like a faithful friend. 
Shall through the gloomy vale attend. 

And cheer our dying breath ; 
Shall, when all other comforts cease. 
Like a kind angel whisger peace. 

And smooth the bed of death. 

Nathaniel Cotton. 



26 



/ Love YoUy Dear 



LOVE YOU, DEAR 



I LOVE you, dear ! " and saying this, 
My heart responds, " 'T is true ! 't is 
true ! " 
And thrills with more than earthly bliss 
While still I say, " I love but you ! " 

" Why should I love you, dear ? '* you ask. 
As though true love could reason why ; 

If love could think, 't would be a task 
For me to love, and love would die. 

I love you just because I do. 

The key I do not care to find. 
For fear the strands would break in two 

That me a willing c^tive bind. 

The fact is all I want to know, 

I will not grieve while that is given ; 
To lose my love would be my woe ; 
To keep it as it is, is heaven. 

George W. CroftSo 
27 



This Is For Tou 



A WOMAN'S GIFTS 



FIRST, I would give thee — nay, I may 
and will — 
Thoughts, memory, prayers, a sacred 
wealth unguessed. 
My soul's own glad and beautiful bequest, 
Conveyed in voiceless reverence, deep and still. 
As angels give their thoughts and prayers to God ! 
Next, I would yield, in service freely made. 
All of my days and years thy needs to fill ; 
To bear, or heavy cross, or thorny rod. 
Glad of my bondage, deeming it most meet — 
A myster)^ of love, as strange as sweet. 
That love from its own wealth should be repaid ! 
Last, I would give thee, if it pleased thee so, 
And for thy pleasure, wishing it increased, 
My woman's beauty, heart and lips aglow — 
But this, dear, last, so soon its charm must fade. 
It is, indeed, of ail my gifts the least ! 

Mary Ainge De Vere. 
28 



Constant 



CONSTANT 

ALTER ? When the hills do. 
Falter ? When the sun 
Question if his glory 
Be the perfect one. 

Surfeit ? When the daffodil 

Doth of the dew : 
Even as herself, O friend ! 

I will of you ! 

Emily Dickinson. 






29 



This Is For Ton 



LOVE 

LOVE? I will tell thee what it is to 
love ! 
It is to build with human thoughts 
a shrine 
Where hope sits brooding like a beauteous dove ; 
Where Time seems young, and Life a thing 

divine. 
All tastes, all pleasures, all desires combine 
To consecrate this sanctuary of bliss. 

Above, the stars in cloudless beauty shine ; 
Around, the streams their flowery margins kiss ; 
And if there 's heaven on earth, that heaven is 
surely this. 



Yes, this is Love, the steadfast and the true. 
The immortal glory which hath never set ; 
The best, the brightest boon the heart e'er 
knew : 

30 



Love 

Of all life's sweets the very sweetest yet ! 
O ! who but can recall the eve they met, 
To breathe, in some green walk, their first young 
vow ? 
While summer flowers with moonlight dews 
were wet, 
And winds sighed soft around the mountain's 

brow. 
And all was rapture then which is but memory 



now ! 



Charles Swain. 




31 



This Is For Tou 



OH, LOVE IS NOT A 
SUMMER MOOD 



O 



H, Love is not a summer mood, 
Nor flying phantom of the brain, 
Nor youthful fever of the blood. 
Nor dream, nor fate, nor circumstance. 
Love is not born of blinded chance, 
Nor bred in simple ignorance. 

II 

Love is the flower of maidenhood ; 
Love is the fruit of mortal pain ; 

And she hath winter in her blood. 

True love is steadfast as the skies, 
And once alight she never flies ; 
And love is strong, and love is wise. 

Richard Watson Gilder. 



32 



Love's Autumn 



LOVE'S AUTUMN 

I WOULD not lose a single silvery ray 
Of those white locks which like a milky 
way 
Streak the dusk midnight of thy raven hair; 

I would not lose, O sweet ! the misty shine 
Of those half-saddened, thoughtful eyes of 

thine, 
Whence Love looks forth, touched by the 

shadow of care; 

I would not miss the droop of thy dear mouth, 
The lips less dewy-red than when the South — 
The young South wind of passion sighed o'er 
them; 

I would not miss each delicate flower that 

blows 
On thy wan cheeks, soft as September's rose 
Blushing but faintly on its faltering stem ; 

3 33 



This Is For Ton 



I would not miss the air of chastened grace 
Which breathed divinely from thy patient face, 
Tells of love's watchful anguish, merged in rest ; 

Naught would I miss of all thou hast, and art, 
O friend supreme, whose constant, stainless 

heart 
Doth house, unknowing, many an angel guest ; 

Their presence keeps thy spiritual chambers 

pure; 
While the flesh fails, strong love grows more 

and more 
Divinely beautiful with perished years ; 

Thus, at each slow, but surely deepening sign 
Of life's decay, we will not. Sweet ! repine. 
Nor greet its mellowing close with thankless 
tears ; 

Love's spring was fair, love's summer brave and 

bland. 
But through love's autumn mist I view the land. 
The land of deathless summers yet to be ; 



34 



Love's Autumn 



There I behold thee, young again and bright, 

In a great flood of rare transfiguring light. 

But there as here, thou smilest. Love, on me ! 

Paul Hamilton Hayne. 




W9^ 



35 



This Is For You 



SONG 

PACK clouds away and welcome day, 
With night we banish sorrow \ 
Sweet air, blow soft, mount, lark, aloft. 
To give my love good-morrow. 
Wings from the wind to please her mind. 

Notes from the lark, I '11 borrow ; 
Bird, prune thy wing ! Nightingale, sing ! 
To give my love good-morrow. 
To give my love good-morrow. 
Notes from them all I '11 borrow* 

Wake from thy nest, robin-redbreast ! 

Sing, birds, in every furrow ; 
And from each bill let music shrill 

Give my fair love good-morrow ! 
Blackbird and thrush, in every bush. 

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow. 
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves. 

Sing my fair love good-morrow. 

To give my love good-morrow, 

Sing, birds, in every furrow. 

Thomas Heywood. 

36 






Better Things 



BETTER THINGS 

BETTER to smell a violet 
Than sip the careless wine ; 
Better to list one music tone 
Than watch the jewel's shine. 

Better to have the love of one 
Than smiles like morning dew ; 
Better to have a living seed 
Than flowers of every hue. 

Better to feel a love within 
Than be lovely to the sight ; 
Better a homely tenderness 
Than beauty's wild delight. 

Better to love than be beloved. 
Though lonely all the day ; 
Better the fountain in the heart 
Than the fountain by the way. 
37 



This Is For You 



Better the thanks of one dear heart 
Than a nation's voice of praise ; 
Better the twilight ere the dawn 
Than yesterday's mid-blaze. 

Better a death when work is done 
Than earth's most favored birth ; 
Better a child in God's great house 
Than the king of all the earth. 

» Leigh Hunt. 




38 



Love's Fulfilling 



LOVE'S FULFILLING 



OH, Love is weak 
Which counts the answers and the 
gains. 
Weighs all the losses and the pains, 
And eagerly each fond word drains, 
A joy to seek. 

When Love is strong. 
It never tarries to take heed. 
Or know if its return exceed 
Its gift ; in its sweet haste no greed. 

No strifes belong. 

It hardly asks 
If it be loved at all; to take 
So barren seems, when it can make 
Such bliss for the beloved's sake. 

Oh, bitter tasks ! 
39 



This Is For Tou 



Its ecstasy 
Could find hard death so beauteous, 
It sees through tears how Christ loved us, 
And speaks, in saying, " I love thus," 

No blasphemy. 

So much we miss 
If Love is weak; so much we gain 
If Love is strong : God thinks no pain 
Too sharp or lasting to ordain 

To teach us this. 

Helen Hunt Jackson. 




40 



Two Truths 



TWO TRUTHS 



DARLING," he said, " I never meant 
To hurt you ; " and his eyes were 
wet. 
" I would not hurt you for the world : 
Am I to blame if I forget ? " 

" Forgive my selfish tears ! " she cried, 
" Forgive ! I knew that it was not 

Because you meant to hurt me, sweet, — 
I knew it was that you forgot ! " 

But all the same deep in her heart 

Rankled this thought, and rankles yet, — 

" When love is at its best, one loves 
So much that he cannot forget." 

Helen Hunt Jackson. 




This Is For T 



ou 



ENTRE NOUS 



I 



TALK with you of foolish things and 



wise. 



Of persons, places, books, desires, and 
aims, 
Yet all our words a silence underlies. 

An earnest, vivid thought that neither names. 



Ah ! what to us were foolish talk or wise ? 

Were persons, places, books, desires, or aims 
Without the deeper sense that underlies. 

The sweet encircling thought that neither 
names ? 

Sophie Jewett {Ellen Burroughs), 




42 



Dolcino to Margaret 



DOLCINO TO MARGARET 

THE world goes up and the world goes 
down, 
And the sunshine follows the rain \ 
And yesterday's sneer, and yesterday's frown 
Can never come over again. 

Sweet wife. 
No, never come over again. 

For woman is warm, though man be cold. 
And the night will hallow the day ; 

Till the heart which at even was weary and old 
Can rise in the morning gay. 

Sweet wife. 
To its work in the morning gay. 

Charles Kingsley. 




43 



This Is For Tou 



PERFECT LOVE 

BELOVED, those who moan of love's 
brief day 
Shall find but little grace with me, I 
guess, 
Who know too well this passion's tenderness 
To deem that it shall lightly pass away, 
A moment's interlude in life's dull play ; 

Though many loves have lingered to distress, 
So shall not ours, sweet Lady, ne'ertheless. 
But deepen with us till both heads be gray. 
For perfect love is like a fair green plant. 

That fades not with its blossoms, but lives on, 
And gentle lovers shall not come to want. 
Though fancy with its first mad dream be 
gone; 
Sweet is the flower, whose radiant glory flies, 
But sweeter still the green that never dies. 

Archibald Lampman. 



44 



The Spirit of the House 



THE SPIRIT OF THE 
HOUSE 

THESE four gray walls are but the 
bodily shell, 
Whereof my lady of the brave blue 
eyes 
Is the immortal soul. All sweet replies 
And viewless records of a touch known well 
That like the tone within a golden bell 
Pervade them with a gentle atmosphere, 
These things are just herself — she being here — 
The breath that makes the rose-tree sweet to 

smell. 
Through sunshine, and gray shadow, and through 

gloom. 
With mirth and gracious courage for her ways, 
And goodness ever forth, but never spent. 
She passes with light hands from room to room, 
And beauty grows before her, and the days 
Arc full, and quietly rounded, and content. 

Archibald Lampman. 
45 



This Is For Ton 



TO DIANEME 

SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes, 
Which, star-like, sparkle in their skies; 
Nor be you proud, that you can see 
All hearts your captives, your's, yet free ; 
Be you not proud of that rich hair 
Which wantons with the love-sick air ; 
Whenas that ruby which you wear, 
Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, 
Will last to be a precious stone. 
When all your world of beauty 's gone. 

Robert Herrick. 




46 



Love 



LOVE 

TRUE Love is but a humble, low-born 
thing, 
And hath its food served up in earthen- 
ware ; 
It is a thing to walk with hand in hand, 
Through the every-dayness of this work-day 

world, 
Baring its tender feet to every roughness, 
Yet letting not one heart -beat go astray 
From Beauty's law of plainness and content ; 
A simple, fireside thing, whose quiet smile 
Can warm earth's poorest hovel to a home. 
Which, when our autumn cometh, as it must, 
And life in the chill wind shivers bare and 

leafless. 
Shall still be blest with Indian-summer youth 
In bleak November, and, with thankful heart, 
Smile on its ample stores of garnered fruit, 
As full of sunshine to our aged eyes 
47 



This Is For Tou 



As when it nursed the blossoms of our spring. 
Such is true Love, which steals into the heart 
With feet as silent as the lightsome dawn 
That kisses smooth the rough brows of the dark 
And hath its will through blissful gentleness, — 
Not like a rocket, which, with savage glare, 
Whirs suddenly up, then bursts, and leaves the 

night 
Painfully quivering on the dazed eyes ; 
A Love that gives and takes, that seeth faults. 
Not with flaw-seeking eyes like needle-points. 
But, loving kindly, ever looks them down 
With the overcoming faith of meek forgiveness ; 
A Love that shall be new and fresh each hour, 
As is the golden mystery of sunset, 
Or the sweet coming of the evening star ; 
Alike, and yet most unlike, every day. 
And seeming ever best and fairest now. 

James Russell Lowell. 




48 



The Sea-Shell 



THE SEA-SHELL 

LISTEN, darling, and tell me 
What the murmurer says to thee. 
Murmuring 'twixt a song and a moan. 
Changing neither tune nor tone." 

" Yes, I hear it, — far and faint. 
Like thin-drawn prayer of drowsy saint ; 
Like the falling of sleep on a weary brain, 
When the fevered heart is quiet again." 

" By smiling lips and fixed eye. 
You are hearing more than song or sigh ; 
The wrinkled thing has curious ways — 
I want to know what words it says." 

" I hear a wind on a boatless main 
Sigh like the last of a vanishing pain ; 
On the dreaming waters dreams the moon. 
But I hear no words in the murmured tune." 
4 49 



This Is For Ton 



" If it does not say that I love thee well, 
'T is a senseless, ill-curved, worn-out shell ; 
If it is not of love, why sigh or sing ? 
'T is a common, mechanical, useless thing." 

" It whispers of love — ' t is a prophet shell — 
Of a peace that comes and all shall be well; 
It speaks not a word of your love to me, 
But it tells me. to love you eternally.'* 

George Macdonald. 




50 



Thy Song 



THY SONG 

ASK me not which of all my songs is 
thine ! 
Ask of the Spring, when first the 
blossoms stir, 
Which of their fairy pennons waves for her ; 
Ask of the Night what star of all that shine 
Is her own signet, peerless and divine ; 
Ask of the Sun which purple follower 
Among the clouds is his sole worshipper, 
Lifting at dawn his colors and his sign. 

As stars are born of night, as flowers of spring. 
As clouds the vivid hues of sunlight wear. 
And all an equal rank and kinship know. 
So is thy memory the awakening. 
The living warmth, the radiance large and fair 
In which all songs of mine to utterance grow. 

Frances Laughton Mace. 



51 



This Is For Tou 



GONE 

GONE is the freshness of my youthful 
prime ; 
Gone the illusions of a later time ; 
Gone is the thought that wealth is worth its cost 
Or aught I hold so good as what I 've lost ; 
Gone are the beauty and the nameless grace 
That once I worshipped in dear Nature's face. 
Gone is the mighty music that of yore 
Swept through the woods or rolled upon the 

shore ; 
Gone the desire of glory in men's breath 
To waft my name beyond the deeps of Death ; 
Gone is the hope that in the darkest day 
Saw bright to-morrow with empurpling ray ; 
Gone, gone, all gone, on which my heart was 

cast, 
Gone, gone forever to the awful past : — 
All gone — but Love ! " 
Oh, coward to repine ! 
Thou hast all else, if Love indeed be thine ! 

Charles Mackay. 
52 



O, Lay Thy Hand in Mtne^ Dear 



O, LAY THY HAND IN 
MINE, DEAR 

OLAY thy hand in mine, dear ! 
We 're growing old ; 
But Time hath brought no sign, dear, 
That hearts grow cold. 
'T is long, long since our new love 

Made life divine ; 
But age enricheth true love. 
Like noble wine. 

And lay thy cheek to mine, dear, 

And take thy rest ; 
Mine arms around thee twine, dear. 

And make thy nest. 
A many cares are pressing 

On this dear head ; 
But Sorrow's hands in blessing 

Are surely laid. 

S3 



rhis Is For To 



u 



O, lean thy life on mine, dear ! 

'T will shelter thee. 
Thou wert a winsome vine, dear, 

On my young tree ; 
And so, till boughs are leafless, 

And songbirds flown, 
We '11 twine, then lay us, griefless. 

Together down. 

Gerald Massey. 




54 



As for Me, I Have a Friend 



AS FOR ME, I HAVE 
A FRIEN D 

LET the sower scatter seed 
Where the crumbling furrows blend ; 
Let the churchman praise his creed, 
The beginning and the end : 
As for me, I have a friend. 

Does the sun forget to shine 

And the wind blow sere and chill? 

Does the cluster kave the vine, 
And the ice begird the rill ? 
I shall rest contented still. 

Must the rose be stripped of leaf 
When the waning June has passed ? 

Shall an autumn voice its grief 
In the lorn November blast ? 
What of that, a friend will last. 
55 



"This Is For You 



Why should I, then, make complaint 
To the days that round me roll ? 

She my missal is, and saint, 

Clad in womanhood's white stole, 
She, the keeper of my soul. 

Not love's chalice to my lips. 

Not that bitter draught she brings, 

Which as Hybla's honey drips 

And like bosomed asp-worn stings. 
No ! she tells of happier things. 

Simple friendship, just that much 
To enfold me as a strand 

Of her hair might ; and the touch 
Of a gracious, welcoming hand 
That I grasp, and understand. 

Let death ope or lock his gate. 

Let the lilies break or bend. 
And the iron will of fate 

Sorrows now or fortune send. 

As for me, I have a friend. 

Ernest McGaffey. 



S6 



Tv Florence 



TO FLORENCE 

IF all God's world a garden were. 
If women were but flowers ; 
If men were bees that busied there, 
Through all the summer hours, — 
Oh, I would hum God's garden through 
For honey, till I came to you. 

Then I should hive within your hair. 

Its sun and gold together ; 
And I should hide in glory there. 

Through all the changeful weather. 
Oh ! I should sip but one, this one 
The sweetest flower beneath the sun. 

Oh, I would be a king, and coin 

Your golden hair in money ; 
And I would only have to seek 

Your lips for hoards of honey. 
Oh ! I would be the richest king 
That ever wore a signet-ring. 

Joaquin Miller. 
57 



This Is For Tou 



FORGET THEE 

FORGET thee ? '' If to dream by night, 
and muse on thee by day, 
If all the worship, deep and wild, a 
poet's heart can pay. 
If prayers in absence breathed for thee to Heav- 
en's protecting power. 
If winged thoughts that flit to thee — a thousand 

in an hour. 
If busy Fancy blending thee with all my future 

lot. 
If this thou call'st "forgetting," thou indeed 
shalt be forgot ! 

" Forget thee ? " Bid the forest birds forget 

their sweetest tune ; 
" Forget thee ? " Bid the sea forget to swell 

beneath the moon ; 
Bid the thirsty flowers forget to drink the eve's 

refreshing dew ; 
Thyself forget thine " own dear land," and its 

" mountains wild and blue ; " 
S8 



Forget Thee 



Forget each old familiar face, each long-remem- 
bered spot \ 
When these things are forgot by thee, then thou 
shalt be forgot ! 

Keep, if thou wilt, thy maiden peace, still calm 
and fancy free. 

For God forbid thy gladsome heart should grow 
less glad for me ; 

Yet, while that heart is still unwon, O, bid not 
mine to rove. 

But let it nurse its humble faith and uncomplain- 
ing love. 

If these, preserved for patient years, at last avail 
me not, 

Forget me then ; — but ne'er believe that thou 
canst be forgot ! 

John Moultrie. 




59 



This Is For Ton 



LOVE'S MEANING 

I THOUGHT it meant all glad ecstatic 
things, 
Fond glance and touch and speech, quick 
blood and brain, 
And strong desire, and keen, delicious pain. 
And beauty's thrall, and strange bewilderings 
'Twixt hope and fear, like to the little stings 
The rose-thorn gives, and then the utter gain — 
Worth all my sorest striving to attain — 
Of the dear bliss long-sought possession gives. 

Now with a sad, clear sight that reassures 
A4y often sinking soul, with longing eyes 

Averted from the path that still allures. 

Lest, seeing that for which my sore heart sighs, 

I seek my own good at the cost of yours, — 
I know at last that love means sacrifice. 

Carlotta Perry, 

60 



I 



A Book of Gold 



A BOOK OF GOLD 

IF I could write a book made sweet with 
thee 
(Oh, therefore sweet with all that may be 
sweet ! ) 
With lingering music, nevermore complete, 
Should turn its golden pages : each should be 
Like whispering voice, or beckoning hand ; and 

he 
Who read should follow (while his heart would 

beat 
For some new miracle), with most eager feet. 
Through sacred labyrinths of mystery. 
Temple and lighted home of love should seem 
The Book wherein my love remembered thine. 
These holiest visions evermore should gleam. 
Vanishing wings, with wandering souls of sound, 
And breaths of incense from an inmost shrine. 
Sought nearer evermore, and never found. 

John James Piatt. 

6i 



This Is For T 



ou 



THE POET'S SONG TO 
HIS WIFE 

HOW many summers, love, 
Have I been thine ? 
How many days, thou dove, 
Hast thou been mine ? 
Time, like the winged wind 

When \ bends the flowers. 
Hath left no mark behind 
To count the hours ! 



Some weight of thought, though loath, 

On thee he leaves ; 
Some lines of care round both 

Perhaps he weaves : 
Some fears, — a soft regret 

For joys scarce known ; 
Sweet looks we half forget ; — 

All else is flown ! 
62 



the Poet's Song to His IVife 

Ah ! — With what thankless heart 

I mourn and sing ! 
Look where our children start, 

Like sudden spring ! 
With tongues all sweet and low. 

Like a pleasant rhyme, 
They tell how much I owe 

To thee and time ! 

B. W. Procter {Barry Cornivall), 



63 



This Is For Ton 



A BIRTHDAY 

MY heart is like a singing bird, 
Whose nest is in a watered shoot; 
My heart is like an apple-tree 
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit ; 
My heart is like a rainbow shell 

That paddles in a halcyon sea ; 
My heart is gladder than all these 
Because my love is come to me. 

Raise me a dais of silk and down ; 

Hang it with vair and purple dyes ; 
Carve it in doves, and pomegranates, 

And peacocks with a hundred eyes ; 
Work it in gold and silver grapes, 

In leaves, and silver fleurs-de-]ys ; 
Because the birthday of my life 

Is come, my love is come to me. 

Christina Georgiana Rossetti. 



64 



If I Desire with Fleas ant Songs 



IF I DESIRE WITH PLEASANT 
SONGS 

IF I desire with pleasant songs 
To throw a merry hour away, 
Comes Love unto me, and my wrongs 
In careful tale he doth display. 
And asks me how I stand for singing 
While I my helpless hands am ringing. 

And then another time, if I 

A noon in shady bower would pass, 

Comes he with stealthy gestures sly. 
And flinging down upon the grass. 

Quoth he to me : " My master dear. 

Think of this noontide such a year ! " 

And if elsewhile I lay my head 
On pillow, with intent to sleep. 

Lies Love beside me on the bed. 

And gives me ancient words to keep ; 

Says he : "These looks, these tokens number; 

Maybe they '11 help you to a slumber." 
5 6s 



This Is For Tou 



So every time when I would yield 
An hour to quiet, comes he still ; 

And hunts up every sign concealed, 
And every outward sign of ill ; 

And gives me his sad face's pleasures 

For merriment's, or sleep's, or leisure's. 

Thomas Burbidge. 




66 



How Do I Love Thee? 



HOW DO I LOVE THEE? 

HOW do I love thee ? Let me count 
the ways : 
I love thee to the depth, the breadth, 
the height 
My soul can reach, when feeling, out of sight 
For the ends of being and ideal grace. 
I love thee to the level of every day's 
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. 
I love thee freely as men strive for right ; 
I love thee purely as they turn from praise. 
I love thee with the passion put to use 

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's 
faith. 
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 

With my lost saints. I love thee with the 
breath. 
Smiles, tears, of all my life ! — and, if God 
choose, 
I shall but love thee better after death. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

67 



This Is For Tou 



WHEN SHE COMES HOME 

WHEN she comes home again! A 
thousand ways 
I fashion, to myself, the tenderness 
Of my glad welcome : I shall tremble — yes ; 
And touch her, as when first in the old days 
I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise 
Mine eyes, such was my faint heart's sweet 

distress. 
Then silence : And the perfume of her dress : 
The room will sway a little, and a haze 
Cloy eyesight — soul-sight, even — for a space : 
And tears — yes ; and the ache here in the 

throat. 
To know that I so ill-desen-'e the place 
Her arms make for me ; and the sobbing note 
I stay with kisses, ere the tearful face 
Again is hidden in the old embrace. 

James Whitcomb Riley. 



68 



Love's Return 



LOVE'S RETURN 

THOU art as welcome as the summer 
rain 
To thirsty rootlets that, beneath the 
sod, 
Await its call to turn the rusty clod 
To one wide, waving field of happy grain ! 
Thou art as welcome as rest after pain, — 
As welcome as when, after Sorrow's rod. 
There comes the sweet peace of the loving 
God,— 
As welcome as the shore that wrecked men 
gain ! 

When thou dost go, the sunshine leaves the sky. 
And all the life seems vanished from the air. 

And vain seem all the gains and hopes of men. 
But when, once more, I know thy coming 

nigh. 
The sun breaks out and all the earth is fair. 

And everything bursts into song again ! 

MiNOT J. Savage. 

69 



This Is For Ton 



FRIENDSHIP 

WHEN to the sessions of sweet silent 
thought 
I summon up remembrance of things 
past, 
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 
And with old woes new wail my dear time's 

waste. 
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow. 
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, 
And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe, 
And moan th' expense of many a vanished sight. 
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
Which I new pay, as if not paid before : 
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend. 
All losses are restored, and sorrows end. 

Shakespeare. 



70 



O Mistress Mine 



O MISTRESS MINE 

O MISTRESS mine, where are you 
roaming ? 
O, stay and hear ! your true-love 's 
coming 
That can sing both high and low ; 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting, 
Journeys end in lovers' meeting, — • 
Every wise man's son doth know. 

What is love ? 't is not hereafter ; 
Present mirth hath present laughter ; 

What 's to come is still unsure : 
In delay there lies no plenty, — 
Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty,' 

Youth 's a stuff will not endure. 

Shakespeare. 



71 



This Is For Tou 



LIFE 

FORENOON and afternoon and 
night, — Forenoon, 
And afternoon, and night, — 
Forenoon, and — what ! 
The empty song repeats itself. No more ? 
Yea, that is Life : make this forenoon sublime. 
This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer. 
And Time is conquered, and thy crown is won. 

Edward R. Sill. 




72 



The Love Lights of Home 



THE LOVE LIGHTS OF 
HOME 

THE bird to the nest and the bee to the 
comb 
When the night from the heavens 
falls dreary. 
And Love to the light in the vi^indows of 
home — 
The light of the love of my dearie ! 

And Love to the light, like a swallow in flight, 
When the storm blows the stars from the 
blue of the night; 
And a kiss from the red rose, a smile from the 
white, 
In the gardens that bloom for my dearie ! 

The ships to the harbor from over the foam. 

When the way has been stormy and weary. 
And Love to the light in the windows of 
home — 
The light of the love of my dearie ! 
73 



This Is For Tou 



And Love to the light, like the bloom from the 

blight, 
When the spring suns weave wonders of red 

and of white, 
And the darkness of winter is kissed to the 

bright 
In the gardens that bloom for my dearie. 

The bird to the nest and the bee to the comb, 
And never a night shall fall dreary 

While the lights in the beautiful windows of 
home 
Are lit by the love of my dearie ! 

And Love to the light, like a bird from the 
night. 
Where angels in lilies Love's litanies write. 
And a kiss from the crimson, a smile from 
white. 
In the gardens that bloom for my dearie ! 

Frank L. Stanton. 




74 



LaurUy My Darling 



LAURA, MY DARLING 

LAURA, my darling, the roses have blushed 
At the kiss of the dew, and our cham- 
ber is hushed ; 
Our murmuring babe to your bosom has clung, 
And hears in his slumber the song that you sung ; 
I watch you asleep with your arms round him 

thrown. 
Your links of dark tresses wound in with his own. 
And the wife is as dear as the gentle young bride 
Of the hour when you first, darling, came to my 
side, 

Laura, my darling, our sail down the stream 
Of Youth's summers and winters has been like 

a dream ; 
Years have but rounded your womanly grace, 
And added their spell to the light of your face ; 
Your soul is the same as though part were not 

given 
To the two, like yourself, sent to bless me from 

heaven, — 

75 



This Is For You 



Dear lives, springing forth from the life of my 

life, 
To make you more near, darling, mother and 

wife ! 

Laura, my darling, there 's hazel-eyed Fred, 

Asleep in his own tiny cot by the bed. 

And little King Arthur, whose curls have the 

art 
Of winding their tendrils so close round my heart; 
Yet fairer than either, and dearer than both. 
Is the true one who gave me in girlhood her 

troth ; 
For we, when we mated for evil and good, — 
What were we, darling, but babes in the wood ? 



Laura, my darling, the years which have flown 
Brought few of the prizes I pledged to my own. 
I said that no sorrow should roughen her way, — 
Her life should be cloudless, a long summer's day. 
Shadow and sunshine, thistles and flowers. 
Which of the two, darling, most have been ours ? 
Yet to-night, by the smile on your lips, I can see 
You are dreaming of me, darling, dreaming of me. 

76 



LaurUy My Darling 

Laura, my darling, the stars, that we knew 
In our youth, are still shining as tender and true ; 
The midnight is sounding its slumberous bell, 
And I come to the one who has loved me so well. 
Wake, darling, wake, for my vigil is done : 
What shall dissever our lives which are one ? 
Say, while the rose listens under her breath, 
" Naught until death, darling, naught until 
death!" 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 




77 



This Is For Tou 



SONG FROM A DRAMA 



I KNOW not if moonlight or starlight 
Be soft on the land and the sea — 
I catch but the near light, the far light, 
Of eyes that are beaming for me ; 
The scent of the night, of the roses, 

May burden the air for thee. Sweet, — 
'T is only the breath of thy sighing 
I know as I lie at thy feet. 

The winds may be sobbing or singing. 

Their touch may be fervent or cold. 
The night-bells may toll or be ringing, — 

I care not, while thee I enfold ! 
The feast may go on, and the music 

Be scattered in ecstasy round, — 
Thy whisper, " I love thee ! I love thee ! " 

Hath flooded my soul with its sound. 
78 



Song from a Drama 

I think not of time that is flying, 
How short is the hour I have won. 

How near is this living to dying. 

How the shadow still follows the sun ; 

There is naught upon earth, no desire 

Worth a thought, though 't were had by a 



sign 



I love thee ! I love thee ! bring nigher 
Thy spirit, thy kisses, to mine. 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 




79 



This Is For You 



MY TRUE LOVE HATH 
MY HEART 

MY true-love hath my heart, and I have 
his, 
By just exchange one to the other 
given : 
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, 

There never was a better bargain driven : 
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 

His heart in me keeps him and me in one ; 

My heart in him his thoughts and senses 
guides : 
He loves my heart, for once it was his own ; 

I cherish his because it in me bides ; 
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 

Sir Philip Sidney. 



80 



Possession 



POSSESSION 

IT was our wedding-day 
A month ago," dear heart, I hear you say. 
If months, or years, or ages since have 
passed, 
I know not : I have ceased to question Time. 
I only know that once there pealed a chime 
Of joyous bells, and then I held you fast. 
And all stood back, and none my right denied. 
And forth we walked : the world was free and 

wide 
Before us. Since that day 
I count my life : the Past is washed away. 

It was no dream, that vow : 
It was the voice that woke me from a dream, — 
A happy dream, I think ; but I am waking now, 
And drink the splendor of a sun supreme 
That turns the mist of former tears to gold. 
Within these arms I hold 
The fleeting promise, chased so long in vain : 
Ah, weary bird ! thou wilt not fly again : 
6 8i 



This Is For Tou 



Thy wings are clipped, thou canst no more 

depart, — 
Thy nest is builded in my heart ! 

I was the crescent ; thou 

The silver phantom of the perfect sphere, 

Held in its bosom : in one glory now 

Our lives united shine, and many a year — 

Not the sweet moon of bridal only — we 

One lustre, ever at the full, shall be : 

One pure and rounded light, one planet whole, 

One life developed, one completed soul ! 

For I in thee, and thou in me. 

Unite our cloven halves of destiny. 

God knew his chosen time : 

He bade me slowly ripen to' my prime. 

And from my boughs withheld the promised 

fruit. 
Till storm and sun gave vigor to the root. 
Secure, O Love ! secure 
Thy blessing is : I have thee day and night : 
Thou art become my blood, my life, my light : 
God*s mercy thou, and therefore shalt endure. 

Bayard Taylor. 
82 



We Kiss'd again with Tears 



WE KISS'D AGAIN WITH 
TEARS 

AS thro' the land at eve we went 
And pluckM the ripen'd ears, 
We fell out, my wife and I, 
Oh, we fell out, I know not why. 
And kiss'd again with tears. 

For when we came where lies the child 

We lost in other years. 
There above the little grave. 
Oh, there above the little grave. 

We kiss'd again with tears. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



83 




This Is For You 



THE MEMORY OF THE 
HEART 

IF Stores of dry and learned lore we gain, 
We keep them in the memory of the 
brain ; 
Names, things, and facts, — whatever we know!- 

edge call, — 
There is the common ledger for them all; 
And images on this cold surface traced 
Make slight impression, and are soon effaced. 
But we 've a page, more glowing and more bright. 
On which our friendship and our love to write \ 
That these may never from the soul depart. 
We trust them to the memory o{ the heart. 
There is no dimming, no effacement there; 
Each new pulsation keeps the record clear ; 
Warm, golden letters all the tablet fill. 
Nor lose their lustre till the heart stands still. 

Daniel Webster. 

84 



Love Is Enough 



LOVE IS ENOUGH 



LOVE is enough. Let us not seek for 
gold. 
Wealth breeds false aims, and pride 
and selfishness; 
In those serene, Arcadian days of old. 

Men gave no thought to princely homes and 
dress. 
The gods who dwelt in fair Olympiads height 
Lived only for dear love and love's delight ; 

Love is enough. 

Love is enough. Why should we care for fame ? 

Ambition is a most unpleasant guest : 
It lures us with the glory of a name 

Far from the happy haunts of peace and rest. 
Let us stay here in this secluded place. 
Made beautiful by love's endearing grace ; 

Love is enough. 
8s 



This Is For Tou 



Love is enough. Why should we strive for 



power 



} 



It brings men only envy and distrust; 
The poor world's homage pleases but an hour, 

And earthly honors vanish in the dust. 
The grandest lives are ofttimes desolate ; 
Let me be loved, and let who will be great ; 

Love is enough. 

Love is enough. Why should we ask for more ? 
What greater gifts have gods vouchsafed to 
men ? 
What better boon of all their precious store 
Than our fond hearts that love and love 
again ? 
Old love may die; new love is just as sweet; 
And life is fair, and all the world complete ; 

Love is enough. 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 



^ 

J 



86 



Among the Heather 



AMONG THE HEATHER 

WINTRY winds are blowing cold 
On the moors of purple heather, 
Where in summer days of old 
Hand in hand we idly strolled, 

Thou and I together. 
But those sunny days are past, 

And no more we walk together 
Where the snow, on every blast, 
Whirls about the heather. 

On the dreary moorland now 

In the storm I wander, lonely. 
Longing — love alone knows how — 
For thy kiss on lips and brow, 

Longing for thee only : 
Life can bring me naught but pain 

Till among the purple heather 
Hand in hand we walk again, — 

Thou and I together ! 

George Arnold. 

87 



This Is For Tou 



ONE 

THE world is naught till one is come 
Who is the world ; then beauty 
wakes, 
And voices sing that have been dumb. 

The world is naught when one is gone 

Who was the world ; then the heart breaks 
That this is lost which once was won. 

Dear love, this life, so passion-fraught, 
From you its bliss or sorrow takes ; 
With you is all ; without you naught. 

Arlo Bates. 



mk 
"i^ 



88 



Come to Me, Dearest 



COME TO ME, DEAREST 

COME to me, dearest, I'm lonely with- 
out thee, 
Daytime and night-time, I'm think- 
ing about thee; 
Night-time and daytime, in dreams I behold 

thee ; 
Unwelcome the waking which ceases to fold 

thee. 
Come to me, darling, my sorrows to lighten. 
Come in thy beauty to bless and to brighten ; 
Come in thy womanhood, meekly and lowly, i 
Come in thy lovingness, queenly and holy. 

Swallows will flit round the desolate ruin, 
Telling of spring and its joyous renewing; 
And thoughts of thy love and its manifold 

treasure 
Are circling my heart with a promise of 

pleasure. 

89 • 



This Is For Tou 



O Spring of my spirit, O May of my bosom. 
Shine out on my soul, till it bourgeon and 

blossom ; 
The waste of my life has a rose-root within it. 
And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can 

win it. 

Figure that moves like a song through the 

even ; 
Features lit up by a reflex of heaven ; 
Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother. 
Where shadow and sunshine are chasing each 

other ; 
Smiles coming seldom but childlike and simple. 
Planting in each rosy cheek a sweet dimple ; — 
O, thanks to the Saviour that even thy 

seeming 
Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming. 

You have been glad when you knew I was 

gladdened ; 
Dear, are you sad now to hear I am saddened ? 
Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, 

love. 
As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, 

love s 

90 



Come to Me, Dearest 

I cannot weep but your tears will be flowing, 
You cannot smile but my cheek will be 

glowing; 
I would not die without you at my side, love, 
You will not linger when I shall have died, 

love. 

Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow. 
Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow ; 
Strong, swift, and fond as the words which I 

speak, love. 
With a song on your lip, a smile on your cheek, 

love. 
Come, for my heart in your absence is weary, — 
Haste, for my spirit is sickened and dreary, — 
Come to the arms which alone should caress 

thee. 
Come to the heart that is throbbing to press 

thee ! 

Joseph Brennan. 




91 



This Is For Tou 



HOW IT HAPPENED 

I PRAY you, pardon me, Elsie, 
And smile that frown away 
That dims the light of your lovely face 
As a thunder-cloud the day, 
I really could not help it, — 

Before I thought, 't was done, — 
And those great gray eyes flashed bright and 
cold, 
Like an icicle in the sun. 

I was thinking of the summers 

When we were boys and girls, 
And wandered in the blossoming woods. 

And the gay winds romped with your curls. 
And you seemed to me the same little girl 

I kissed in the alder-path, 
I kissed the little girl's lips, and alas ! 

I have roused a woman's wrath. 
92 



How It Happened 



There is not so much to pardon, — 

For why were your lips so red ? 
The blonde hair fell in a shower of gold 

From the proud, provoking head. 
And the beauty that flashed from the splendid 
eyes, 

And played round the tender mouth. 
Rushed over my soul like a warm sweet wind 

That blows from the fragrant south. 



And where, after all, is the harm done ? 

I believe we were made to be gay, 
And all of youth not given to love 

Is vainly squandered away. 
And strewn through life's low labors, 

Like gold in the desert sands. 
Are love's swift kisses and sighs and vows, 

And the clasp of clinging hands. 



And when you are old and lonely, 

In Memory's magic shine 
You will see on your thin and wasting hands, • 

Like gems, these kisses of mine. 
93 



This Is For Tou 



And when you muse at evening 

At the sound of some vanished name, 

The ghost of my kisses shall touch your lips 
And kindle your heart to flame. 

John Hay. 



94 



// T:hou Wert by My Side 



IF THOU WERT BY 
MY SIDE 

IF thou wert by my side, my love ! 
How fast would evening fail 
In green Bengala's palmy grove, 
Listening the nightingale ! 

If thou, my love ! wert by my side, 

My babies at my knee. 
How gayly would our pinnace glide 

O'er Gunga's mimic sea ! 

I miss thee at the dawning gray. 
When, on our deck reclined. 

In careless ease my limbs I lay. 
And woo the cooler wind. 

I miss thee when by Gunga's stream 

My twilight steps I guide. 
But most beneath the lamp's pale beam, 

I miss thee from my side* 
95 



This Is For You 



I spread my books, my pencil try, 
The lingering noon to cheer. 

But miss thy kind, approving eye. 
Thy meek, attentive ear. 

But when of morn and eve the star 

Beholds me on my knee, 
I feel, though thou art distant far. 

Thy prayers ascend for me. 

Then on ! then on ! where duty leads, 
My course be onward still. 

O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads. 
O'er black Almorah's hill. 

That course, nor Delhi's kingly gates 

Nor wild Malwah detain. 
For sweet the bliss us both awaits 

By yonder western main. 



Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say. 

Across the dark blue sea ; 
But ne'er were hearts so light and gay. 

As then shall meet in thee ! 



Reginald Heber. 



96 



Like a Laverock in the Lift 



LIKE A LAVEROCK IN 
THE LIFT 



IT *s we two, it 's we two for aye, 
AH the world, and we two, and Heaven 
be our stay ! 
Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride ! 
All the world was Adam once, with Eve by his 
side. 

What 's the world, my lass, my love ! — what 

can it do ? 
I am thine, and thou art mine ; life is sweet and 

new. 
If the world have missed the mark, let it stand 

by; 
For we two have gotten leave, and once more 

will try. 

7 97 



This Is For Tou 



Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride ! 
It 's we two, it 's we two, happy side by side. 
Take a kiss from me, thy man ; now the song 

begins : 
'' All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart 

wins." 

When the darker days come, and no sun will 
shine, 

Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I '11 dry 
thine. 

It 's we two, it 's we two, while the world 's 
away. 

Sitting by the golden sheaves on our wedding- 
day. 

Jean Ingelow. 



# 

m 



98 



Absence 



ABSENCE 

WHAT shall I do with all the days 
and hours 
That must be counted ere I see thy 
face ? 
How shall I charm the interval that lowers 
Between this time and that sweet time of grace ? 

Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense, 
Weary with longing ? — shall I flee away 

Into past days, and with some fond pretence 
Cheat myself to forget the present day ? 

Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin 

Of casting from me God's great gift of time? 

Shall I, these mists of memory locked within, 
Leave and forget life's purposes sublime ? 

O, how or by what means may I contrive 
To bring the hour that brings thee back more 
near ? 

How may I teach my drooping hope to live 
Until that blessed time, and thou art here ? 

L..vC. 99 



This Is For Ton 



I '11 tell thee ; for thy sake I will lay hold 
Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee, 

In worthy deeds, each moment that is told 
While thou, beloved one ! art far from me. 

For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try 

All heavenward flights, all high and holy 
strains ; 
For thy dear sake I will walk patiently 

Through these long hours, nor call their 
minutes pains. 

I will this dreary blank of absence make 
A noble task-time ; and will therein strive 

To follow excellence, and to overtake 

More good than I have won since yet I live. 

So may this doomed time build up in me 

A thousand glances, which shall thus be 
thine ; 

So may my love and longing hallowed be, 
And thy dear thought an influence divine. 

Frances Anne Kemble. 



ICO 



In Absence 



IN ABSENCE 

MY love is far away from me to-night, 
O spirits of sweet peace, kind 
destinies. 
Watch over her, and breathe upon her eyes; 
Keep near to her in every hurt's despite. 
That no rude care or noisome dream affright. 
So let her rest, so let her sink to sleep. 
As little clouds that breast the sunset steep 
Merge and melt out into the golden light. 
My love is far away and I am grown 

A very child, oppressed with formless glooms. 
Some shadowy sadness with a name unknown 
Haunts the chill twilight, and these silent 
rooms 
Seem with vague fears and dim regrets astir. 
Lonesome and strange and empty without her. 

Archibald Lampman. 



lOI 



This Is For You 



HIS REVERIE 

WE sit in the light of the dancing fire, 
We two, shut in by the wind and 
the weather 
That shakes the elm-tree against the pane 
And folds us two the closer together. 

The light leaps up to the loops of hair 
That touch her ear so daintily moulded. 
Or circles her throat in a fleet caress, 
And sinks to the hands serenely folded. 

I watch the face that I know so well. 
The face where my fortune and destiny hover. 
And the thoughts that arise in her dreamy eyes 
And curve her lips, I would fain discover. 

So near, I can see the stir of the lace 

That gently Hfts at her heart's soft beating \ 

So dear, that, only there is no need. 

My heart would forever one word be repeating. 

102 



His Reverie 



Yet her soul knows a pathway that I cannot 

tread 
To the mountains of thought lying high and 

lonely, 
And yearn as I may she slips away 
To a realm that is closed unto me — me only. 

Though we sit in the light of the self-same fire, 
While the storm folds us close and the wild 

wind is calling, 
The light of the summit is on her brow 
And I stand alone where the shadows are falling. 

If I speak — I know her ways so well — 

She will turn with a smile that has caught its 

sweetness 
From the starry heights where her soul has fed. 
And will lean to me in my incompleteness. 

With a love that would draw me up to her 

side ; 
Or, failing that, in a glad surrender 
Would yield all part in a wealth unshared, 
And joy in the self-abnegation tender. 
103 



This Is For Tou 



Yet never be mine the hand to weld 
The links, howe'er light, for her soul's enslaving ; 
In loving at least I may reach her height, 
Nor blot my best by a selfish craving. 

I but clasp her hand in my own and wait 
While her soul tries its wings, like a bird up- 
ward yearning. 
For I know that her heart will restore her to me, 
Like the bird to the love of its low nest return- 
ing. 

Lily A. Long. 




104 



T^he Brookside 



THE BROOKSIDE 



I WANDERED by the brookside, 
I wandered by the mill ; 
I could not hear the brook flow, - 
The noisy wheel was still ; 
There was no burr of grasshopper, 
No chirp of any bird, 
But the beating of my own heart 
Was all the sound I heard. 

I sat beneath the elm-tree ; 
I watched the long, long shade. 
And, as it grew still longer, 
I did not feel afraid ; 
For I listened for a footfall, 
I listened for a word, — 
But the beating of my own heart 
Was all the sound I heard. 
105 



This Is For You 



He came not, — no, he came not, — 
The night came on alone, — 
The little stars sat, one by one. 
Each on his golden throne ; 
The evening wind passed by my cheek. 
The leaves above were stirred, — 
But the beating of my own heart 
Was all the sound I heard. 

Fast silent tears were flowing. 
When something stood behind ; 
A hand was on my shoulder, — 
I knew its touch was kind : 
It drew me nearer, — nearer, — 
We did not speak one word. 
For the beating of our own hearts 
Was all the sound we heard. 

Richard Monckton Milnes 
(Lord Houghton)^ 




1 06 



.'i 



A 



Good Bye 



GOOD BYE 

SWEETHEART, good bye ! That flut- 
t'ring sail 
Is spread to waft me far from thee : 
And soon before the farth'rmg gale. 

My ship shall bound upon the sea. 
Perchance, all des'late and forlorn, 

These eyes shall miss thee many a year : 
But unforgotten every charm — 

Though lost to sight, to memory dean 

Sweetheart, good bye ! one last embrace ! 

Oh, cruel fate, two souls to sever ! 
Yet in this heart's most sacred place 

Thou, thou alone, shalt dwell forever; 
And still shall recollection trace. 

In fancy's mirror, ever near. 
Each smile, each tear, that form that face, — 

Though lost to sight, to memory dear. 

Thomas Moore. 
107 



This Is For Ton 



I KNEW BY THE SMOKE THAT 
SO GRACEFULLY CURLED 



I KNEW by the smoke, that so gracefully 
curled 
Above the green elms, that a cottage 
was near. 
And I said, ^' If there 's peace to be found in 
the world, 
A heart that is humble might hope for it 
here ! '' 

It was noon, and on flowers that languished 
, around 
In silence reposed the voluptuous bee ; 
Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound 
But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech- 
tree. 

io8 



/ Knew by the Smoke 

And, " Here in this lone little wood," I ex- 
claimed, 
'' With a maid who was lovely to soul and 
to eye. 
Who would blush when I praised her, and weep 
if I blamed. 
How blest could I live, and how calm could 
I die! 

'' By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry 
dips 
In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to 
recline. 
And to know that I sighed upon innocent lips, 
Which had never been sighed on by any but 
mine ! " 

Thomas Moore. 




I ©9 



This Is For Ton 



WHAT SHALL I DO FOR 
MY LOVE 

WHAT shall I do for my love, 
Who is so tender 
And dear and true, 
Loving and true and tender, 
My strength and my defender — 
What shall I do ? 



I will cleave unto my love, 

Who am too lowly 

For him to take. 

With a self-surrender holy 

I will cleave unto him solely, 

I will give my being wholly 

For his dear sake. 



Lewis Morris. 






no 



A Love Symphony 



A LOVE SYMPHONY 



ALONG the garden ways just now 
I heard the flowers speak. 
The white rose told me of your brow, 
The red rose of your cheek ; 
The lily of your bended head, 
The bindweed of your hair ; 
Each looked his loveliest and said 
You were more fair. 

I went into the wood anon, 

And heard the wild birds sing 
How sweet you were ; they warbled on, 

Piped, trilled the self-same thing. 
Thrush, blackbird, linnet without pause, 

The burden did repeat ; 
And still began again because 

You were more sweet. 
Ill 



This Is For Tou 



And then I went down to the sea, 

And heard it murmuring too, 
Part of an ancient mystery, 

All made of me and you. 
How many a thousand years ago 

I loved, and you were sweet — 
Longer I could not stay, and so 

I fled back to your feet. 

Arthur O'Shaughnessy. 




112 



Song 



SONG 

OH ! say not woman's heart is bought 
With vain and empty pleasure ; 
Oh ! say not woman's heart is caught 
By every idle pleasure. 
. When first her gentle bosom knows 

Love's flame, it wanders never; 
Deep in her heart the passion glows, — 
She loves and loves forever. 

Oh ! say not woman 's false as fair. 

That like the bee she ranges ; 
Still seeking flowers more sweet and rare. 

As fickle fancy changes. 
Ah no ! the love that first can warm 

Will leave her bosom never; 
No second passion e'er can charm. 

She loves, and loves forever. 

Thomas Love Peacock. 



113 



This Is For Tou 



A LETTER 

TWO things love can do, 
Only two ; 
Can distrust or can believe ; 
It can die or it can live. 
There is no syncope 
Possible to love or me. 
Go your ways ! 

Two things you can do,^ 

Only two ; 
Be the thing you used to be, 
Or be nothing more to me, 
I can but joy or grieve, 
Can no more than die or live. 

Go your ways ! 



So far I wrote, my darling, drearily, 
But now my sad pen falls down wearilj 
From out my trembling hand, 
114 



A Letter 

I did not, do not, cannot mean it. Dear ! 
Come life or death, joy, grief, or hope or fear, 
I bless you where I stand ! 

I bless you where I stand excusing you. 
No speech nor language for accusing you 
My laggard lips can learn. 

To you — be what you are, or can, to me — 
To you or blessedly or fatefully 
My heart must turn ! 

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 



ili 



»I5 



This Is For Tou 



KING AND SLAVE 

IF in my soul, dear, 
An omen should dwell, 
Bidding me pause, ere 
I love thee too well j 
If the whole circle 

Of noble and wise, 
With stern forebodings. 

Between us should rise ; — 

I will tell them, dear. 

That Love reigns — A King, 
Where storms cannot reach him, 

And words cannot sting; 
He counts it dishonor 

His faith to recall ; 
He trusts ; — and forever, 

He gives — and gives all ! 
ii6 



King and Slave 



I will tell thee, dear, 

That Love is — a Slave, 
Who dreads thought of freedom, 

As life dreads the grave ; 
And if doubt or peril 

Of change there may be, 
Such fear would but drive him 

Still nearer to thee ! 

Adelaide A. Procter. 




117 



T^his Is For Ton 



A NEW YEAR'S BURDEN 



ALONG the grass sweet airs are blown 
Our way this day in spring. 
Of all the songs that we have known 
Now which one shall we sing ? 
Not that, my love, ah, no ! — 
Not this, my love ? why, so ! 
Yet both were ours, but hours will come and 

go- 

The grove is all a pale frail mist. 

The new year sucks the sun. 
Of all the kisses we have kissed 
Now which shall be the one ? 
Not that, my love, ah, no ! 
Not this, my love ? — heigh-ho 
For all the sweets that all the winds can blow, 
ii8 



A New Tear's Burden 

The branches cross above our eyes, 

The skies are in a net ; 
And what 's the thing beneath the skies 
We two would most forget ? 
Not birth, my love, no, no, — 
Not death, my love, no, no, — 
The love once ours, but ours long hours ago. 

Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 



119 



This Is For Ton 



A MADRIGAL 

SWEETHEART, the year is young. 
And 'neath the heavens blue 
The fresh wild-flowers have hung 
Their cups to catch the dew. 
And love like a bird carols one soft word. 

Sweetheart, to the sapphire skies ; 
And floating aloft comes an echo soft 
" Sweetheart " — your eyes ! 

Sweetheart, the year is sweet 

With fragrance of the rose 
That bends before your feet 

As to the gale that blows. 
And love like a bird quavers one low word, 

Sweetheart, to the garden place ; 
And across the glow comes an echo low 

" Sweetheart " — your face ! 

Sweetheart, the year grows old. 

Upon the meadows brown, 
And forests, waving gold. 

The stars look, trembling, down. 
1 20 



A Madrigal 



And love like a bird whispers one pure word, 

Sweetheart, to the cooling air ; 
And the breezes sure waft an echo pure 

" Sweetheart " — your hair ! 

Sweetheart, the year wanes fast; 

The summer birds have flown 
From winter's spiteful blast 

Unto a sun-bound zone. 
And love like a bird warbles one clear word, 

Sweetheart, to the balmy south ; 
And back to my ear comes an echo clear 

" Sweetheart " — your mouth ! 

Sweetheart, the year is gone ; 

Lean closer to my heart ! 
Time only weighs upon 

The loves that dwell apart. 
• And love like a bird with his whole soul stirred. 

Sweetheart, shall carol his glee ; 
And to you I '11 cling while the echoes ring 

^' Sweetheart " — for me ! 

Frank Dempster Sherman. 



121 



rhis Is For T 



ou 



A MATCH 



IF love were what the rose is, 
And I were like the leaf, 
Our lives would grow together 
In sad or singing weather. 
Blown fields or flowerful closes, 
Green pleasure or gray grief; 
If love were what the rose is. 
And I were like the leaf. 

If I were what the words are. 

And love were like the tune. 
With double sound and single 
Delight our lips would mingle, 
With kisses glad as birds are 

That get sweet rain at noon ; 
If I were what the words are, 
And love were like the tune. 

122 



A Match 



If you were life, my darling, 
And I, your love, were death. 

We 'd shine and snow together 

Ere March made sweet the weather 

With daffodil and starling 
And hours of fruitful breath ; 

If you were life, my darling, 
And I, your love, were death. 

If you were thrall to sorrow. 

And I were page to joy. 
We 'd play for lives and seasons, 
With loving looks and treasons. 
And tears of night and morrow. 

And laughs of maid and boy ; 
If you were thrall to sorrow. 

And I were page to joy. 

If you were April's lady. 

And I were lord in May, 
We 'd throw with leaves for hours. 
And draw for days with flowers. 
Till day like night were shady. 

And night were bright like day ; 
If you were April's lady. 
And I were lord in May. 
123 



This Is For Tou 



If you were queen of pleasure, 

And I were king of pain, 
We 'd hunt down love together, 
Pluck out his flying-feather, 
And teach his feet a measure. 

And find his mouth a rein ; 
If you were queen of pleasure. 

And I were king of pain. 

Algernon Charles Swinburne. 



124 



O Swallow y Flying South 



O SWALLOW, FLYING 
SOUTH 

O SWALLOW, Swallow, flying, flying 
South, 
Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded 
eaves, 
And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee. 

O tell her. Swallow, thou that knowest each. 
That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, 
And dark and true and tender is the North. 

O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and 

light 

Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill. 
And cheep and twitter twenty million loves, 

O were I thou, that she might take me in, 
And lay me on her bosom, and her heart 
Would rock the snowy cradle till I died. 
125 



This Is For Ton 



Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with 
love, 
Delaying as the tender ash delays 
To clothe herself, when all the woods are green. 

O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flov/n ; 
Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, 
But in the North long since my nest is made* 

O tell her, brief is life, but love is long. 
And brief the sun of summer in the North, 
And brief the moon of beauty in the South. 

O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, 
Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her 

mine. 
And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 




126 



T:he Heart's Call 



THE HEART'S CALL 

HE rides away at early light, 
Amid the tingling frost, 
And in the mist that sweeps her sight 
His form is quickly lost. 

He crosses now the silent stream. 

Now skirts the forest drear. 
Whose thickets cast a silver gleam 

From a leafage thin and sear. 

Long falls the shadow at his back 

(The morning springs before) ; 
His thoughts fly down the shadowed track, 

And haunt his cottage-door. 

Miles gone, upon a hill-top bare 

He draws a sudden rein : 
His name, her voice, rings on the air. 

Then all is still again ! 
127 



This Is For Tou 



She sits at home, she speaks no word. 

But deeply calls her heart ; 
And this it is that he has heard, 

Though they are miles apart. 

Edith M. Thomas. 




128 



^^For Better , for Worse'' 



"FOR BETTER, FOR 
WORSE" 

OUOTH he: "Sweetheart, thou art 
young and fair. 
And thy story has just begun ; 
But I am as old 
As a tale that 's told, 
And the days of my youth are done." 
" O'er ruins olden the clinging moss 
Doth a mantle of velvet spread : 
Shall the climbing flower 
Be more to the tower 
Than I to my Love ? " she said. 

Quoth he : " Sweetheart, thou hast lands and 

gold, 
And thou knowest not want nor woe ; 
As a beggar poor 
I stand at thy door. 
And I only can love thee so." 
" Through leafless forests the sunbeams creep, 
9 129 



This Is For Tou 



All the wealth of their gold to shed ; 

And are they more fair 

To the woodland bare 
Than I to my Love ? " she said. 

Quoth he : " Sweetheart, thou art good and kind 
And wouldst never the lowest spurn ; 

But the storm of life 

With its toil and strife 
Has rendered me harsh and stern." 
" The brooklet murmurs its sweetest lays 
As it makes for the rocks ahead : 

Shall the streamlet's song 

Be more brave and strong 
Than I for my Love ? " she said. 

Quoth he : " Sweetheart, thou art blithe and gay, 
And thou never hast known a care ; 

But my face is worn 

And my heart is torn 
With the sorrow I 've had to bear." 
'' The stars ne'er spangle the sapphire sky. 
Till the brightness of day has fled : 

Shall the pale starlight 

Be truer to-night 
Than I to my Love ? " she said. 
130 



^^For Better^ for Worse'' 

Quoth he : " Sweetheart, who art young and fair, 
Will thy wonderful love to me 

Through sorrow or shame 

Be always the same ? " 
'' Nay, it rather will grow," said she. 
Again he cried : " Will it last, Sweetheart, 
Till thy lover lies cold and dead, 

And thy latest breath 

Has been hushed in death ? " 
" Aye, longer than that," she said. 

Ellen Thorneycroft-Fowler. 




131 



This Is For Tou 



LOVERS SILENCE 

DEAREST, this one day our own, 
Stolen from the crowd and press, 
Let it be sweet silence's. 
We two, heart to heart, alone ; 
Any speech were less. 

We are weary, even thus. 

Talk might turn to discontent. 

Else be practised merriment ; 
Earth and sky will speak for us 

Nearer as we meant. 

We two, in the stillness, dear. 

Fair dreams come without our quest. 
Not to speak of life is best. 

Ah, our holiday is here. 
Let it all be rest. 

Augusta Webster. 

132 



a 



To Love 



TO LOVE 

WHY should I blush to own I love ? 
'T is love that rules the realms 
above. 
Why should I blush to say to all 
That virtue holds my heart in thrall? 

Why should I seek the thickest shade, 
Lest love's dear secret be betrayed ? 
Why the stern brow deceitful move, 
When I am languishing with love ? 

Is it weakness thus to dwell 
On passion that I dare not tell ? 
Such weakness I would ever prove, 
'T is painful, though 't is sweet, to love. 

Henry Kirke White. 



133 



This Is For Tou 



BENEDICITE 

GOD'S love and peace be with thee, 
where 
Soe'er this soft autumnal air 
Lifts the dark tresses of thy hair ! 

Whether through city casements comes 
Its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms. 
Or out among the woodland blooms. 

It freshens o'er thy thoughtful face. 
Imparting, in its glad embrace. 
Beauty to beauty, grace to grace ! 

Fair Nature's book together read. 

The old wood-paths that knew our tread, 

The maple shadows overhead, — 

The hills we climbed, the river seen 
By gleams along its deep ravine,— 
All keep thy memory fresh and green. 
^34 



Benedicite 



Where'er I look, where'er I stray, 
Thy thought goes with me on my way, 
And hence the prayer I breathe to-day : 

O'er lapse of time and change of scene, 
The weary waste which lies between 
Thyself and me, my heart I lean. 

Thou lack'st not Friendship's spellword, nor 
The half-unconscious power to draw 
All hearts to thine by Love's sweet law. 

With these good gifts of God is cast 
Thy lot, and many a charm thou hast 
To hold the blessed angels fast. 

If, then, a fervent wish for thee 

The gracious heavens will heed from me. 

What should, dear heart, its burden be ? 

The sighing of a shaken reed, — 
What can I more than meekly plead 
The greatness of our common need ? 
135 



This Is For Ton 



God's love, — unchanging, pure, and true, — 
The Paraclete white-shining through 
His peace, — the fall of Hermon's dew ! 

With such a prayer, on this sweet day. 
As thou mayst hear and I may say, 
I greet thee, dearest, far away ! 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



[» 




136 



Love's Coming 



LOVE'S COMING 

SHE had looked for his coming as war- 
riors come, 
With the clash of arms and the bugle's 
call; 
But he came instead with a stealthy tread 
Which she did not hear at all. 

She had thought how his armor would blaze in 
the sun, 

As he rode like a Prince to claim his bride ; 
In the sweet, dim light of the falling night 

She found him at her side. 

She had dreamed how the gaze of his strange, 
bold eye 
Would wake her heart to a sudden glow ; 
She found in his face the familiar grace 
Of a friend she used to know. 
137 



This Is For Tou 



She had dreamed how his coming would stir her 
soul, 
As the ocean is stirred by the wild storm's 
strife ; 
He brought her the balm of a heavenly calm, 
And a peace which crowned her life. 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox 




138 



A Song 



A SONG 



I DO not ask — dear love — not I, 
A jewelled crown to win, 
Nor robe, nor crown — • nor do I cry- 
To those that guard the gates of heaven, 
That they should let me in. 

Oh, when they talk of far-ofF strands, 

I have no heart to pray. 
So lonely seem those heavenly lands, 
I feel no wish for angel hands 

To wipe my tears away. 

I care not for the joyous throng. 

My soul could never share 
The endless bliss — the happy song ; 
How long the days, O God, how long. 

If I should miss thee there! 
139 



Tilts Is For Tou 



Nay, love ; I only could be blest 

Close by thy side to be, 
To hold thv hand — to lean at rest. 
Forever on thy faithful breast. 

That would be heaven for me. 

Robert Burns Wilson. 




140 



n 



Of Such as I Have 



OF SUCH AS I HAVE 



L 



OVE me for what I am, Love. Not 

for sake 
Of some imagined thing which I 

might be, 
Some brightness or some goodness not in me, 
Born of your hope, as dawn to eyes that wake 
Imagined morns before the morning break. 
If I, to please you (whom I fain would please). 
Reset myself like new key to old tune. 
Chained thought, remodelled action, very soon 
My hand would slip from yours, and by degrees 
The loving, faulty friend, so close to-day. 
Would vanish, and another take her place, — 
A stranger with a stranger's scrutinies, 
A new regard, an unfamiliar face. 
Love me for what I am, then, if you may ; 
But if you cannot, — love me either way. 

Sarah Channing Woolsey. 



141 



This Is For Tou 



SOMEBODY 

SOMEBODY 's courting somebody, 
Somewhere or other to-night ; 
Somebody 's whispering to somebody. 
Somebody 's listening to somebody, 
IJnder this clear moonlight. 

Near the bright river's flow. 
Running so still and slow, 
Talking so soft and low, 
She sits with Somebody. 

Pacing the ocean's shore. 
Edged by the foaming roar, 
Words never used before 
Sound sweet to Somebody. 

Under the maple-tree, 
Deep though the shadow be, 
Plain enough they can see, 
Bright eyes has Somebody. 
142 



Somebody 



No one sits up to wait. 
Though she is out so late, 
All know she 's at the gate. 
Talking with Somebody. 

Tiptoe to parlor door ; 
Two shadows on the floor! 
Moonlight, reveal no more, — 
Susy and Somebody. 

Two, sitting side by side 
Float with the ebbing tide, 
" Thus, dearest, may we glide 
Through life," says Somebody. 

Somewhere, Somebody 
Makes love to Somebody, 
To-night. 

Anonymous. 




H3 



This Is For Tou 



LOVE LIGHTENS LABOR 

A GOOD wife rose from her bed one 
morn, 
And thought, with a nervous dread. 
Of the piles of clothes to be washed, and more 

Than a dozen mouths to be fed. 
" There 's the meals to get for the men in the 
field. 
And the children to fix away 
To school, and the milk to be skimmed and 
churned; 
And all to be done this day." 

It had rained in the night, and all the wood 

Was wet as it could be ; 
There were puddings and pies to bake, besides 

A loaf of cake for tea. 
And the day was hot, and her aching head 

Throbbed wearily as she said, 
" If maidens but knew what good wives know. 

They would not be in haste to wed ! " 
144 



Love Lightens Labor 

" Jennie, what do you think I told Ben Brown ? " 

Called the farmer from the well ; 
And a flush crept up to his bronzed brow, 

And his eyes half bashfully fell. 
" It was this," he said, and coming near 

He smiled, and stooping down. 
Kissed her cheek, — " 't was this, that you* were 
the best 

And the dearest wife in town ! " 



The farmer went back to the field, and the wife. 

In a smiling, absent w^y, 
Sang snatches of tender little songs 

She 'd not sung for many a day. 
And the pain in her head was gone, and the 
clothes 

Were white as the foam of the sea ; 
Her bread was light, and her butter was sweet. 

And as golden as it could be. 

" Just think," the children all called in a breath, 

" Tom Wood has run off to sea ! 
He would n't, I know, if he M only had 

As happy a home as we." 
10 14s 



This Is For Tou 



The night came down, and the good wife smiled 

To herself, as she softly said : 
" 'T is so sweet to labor for those we love — 

It is not strange that maids will wed ! '* 

Anonymous. 



% 



146 



^ 



"The Wife to Her Husband 



THE WIFE TO HER 
HUSBAND 

LINGER not long. Home is not home 
without thee : 
Ji In dearest tokens do but make me 
mourn. 
O, let its memory, like a chain about thee. 
Gently compel and hasten thy return ! 

Linger not long. Though crowds should woo 
thy staying, 
Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy friend, 
though dear. 
Compensate for the grief thy long delaying 
Costs the fond heart that sighs to have thee 
here ? 

Linger not long. How shall I watch thy coming, 
As evening shadows stretch o'er moor and 
dell ; 
When the wild bee hath ceased her busy hum- 
ming. 
And silence hangs on all things like a spell ! 
H7 



This Is For Ton 



How shall I watch for thee, when fears grow 
stronger, 

As night grows dark and darker on the hill ! 
How shall I weep, when I can watch no longer ! 

Ah ! art thou absent, art thou absent still ? 

Yet I shall grieve not, though the eye that seeth 
me 
Gazeth through tears that make its splendor 
dull; 
For oh ! I sometimes fear when thou art with 
me. 
My cup of happiness is all too full. 

Haste, haste thee home unto thy mountain 
dwelling. 
Haste, as a bird unto its peaceful nest ! 
Haste, as a skifF, through tempests wide and 
swelling. 
Flies to its haven of securest rest ! 

Anonymous. 




148 



The Golden Fish 



THE GOLDEN FISH 



L 



OVE is a little golden fish. 

Wondrous shy . . . ah, wondrous 
shy . . . 
You may catch him if you wish ; 
He might make a dainty dish . . , 
But I . . . 
Ah, I Ve other fish to fry ! 

For when I try to snare this prize^ 

Earnestly and patiently. 
All my skill the rogue defies, 
Lurking safe in Aimee's eyes • . . 

So, you see, 

I am caught and Love goes free ! 

George Arnold. 




149 



This Is For Tou 



WON'T YOU? 

DO you remember when you heard 
My lips breathe love's first faltering 
word ? 
You do, sweet — don't you ? ^ 
When, having wandered all the day, 
Linked arm in arm I dared to say. 

You '11 love me — won't you ? 

And when you blushed and could not speak, 
I fondly kissed your glowing cheek; 

Did that affront you ? 
Oh, surely not ; your eye exprest 
No wrath, but said, perhaps in jest, 

" You '11 love me — won't you ? " 

I 'm sure my eyes replied, " I will," 
And you believe that promise still ; 

You do, sweet — don't you ? 
Yes, yes, when age has made our eyes 
Unfit for questions or replies. 

You '11 love me — won't you ? 

Thomas Haynes Bayly. 
ISO 



A Maiden's Ideal of a Husband 



A MAIDEN'S IDEAL OF 
A HUSBAND 

GENTEEL in personage, 
Conduct, and equipage, 
Noble by heritage, 
Generous and free ! 
Brave, not romantic ; 
Learned, not pedantic ; 
Frolic, not frantic; 
This must he be. 

Honor maintaining. 
Meanness disdaining. 
Still entertaining. 

Engaging and new. 
Neat, but not finical; 
Sage, but not cynical; 
Never tyrannical. 

But ever true. 

Henry Carey. 
151 



This Is For Ton 



THE FAIR COPY- 
HOLDER 

YON window frames her like a saint 
Within some old cathedral rare ; 
Perhaps she is not quite so quaint. 
And yet I think her full as fair ! 

All day she scans the written lines, 

Until the last dull proof is ended. 
Calling the various words and signs 

By which each error may be mended. 

An interceding angel, she, 

'Twixt printing-press and author's pen 
Perhaps she 'd find some faults in me ! 

Say, maiden, can you not read men ? 

Forgive me, gentle girl, but while 

You bravely work I 've been reflecting 

That somewhere in this world of guile 

There 's some one's life needs your correcting. 
152 



The Fair Copyholder 

Methinks 't is time you learned this art. 

Which makes the world's wide page read 
better ; 

For love needs proving, heart with heart. 
As well as type with written letter. 

Charles H. Crandall. 




153 



This Is For Tou 



THE CHESS-BOARD 

MY little love, do you remember, 
Ere we were grown so sadly wise, 
Those evenings in the bleak De- 
cember, 
Curtained warm from the snowy weather, 
When you and I played chess together. 
Checkmated by each others eyes ? 

Ah ! still I see your soft white hand 
Hovering warm o'er Queen and Knight ; 

Brave Pawns in valiant battle stand ; 
The double Castles guard the wings ; 
The Bishop, bent on distant things, 
Moves, sidling, through the fight. 

Our fingers touch ; our glances meet, 
And falter ; falls your golden hair 

Against my cheek ; your bosom sweet 
Is heaving. Down the field, your Queen 
Rides slow, her soldiery all between. 
And checks me unaware. 
15+ 



The Chess-Board 



Ah me ! the little battle 's done : 
Disperst is all its chivalry. 
Full many a move since then have we 
Mid life's perplexing checkers made, 
And many a game with fortune played ; 

What is it we have won ? 

This, this at least, — if this alone : 

That never, never, nevermore, 

As in those old still nights of yore, 
(Ere we were grown so sadly wise,) 
Can you and I shut out the skies. 

Shut out the world and wintry weather, 
And, eyes exchanging warmth with eyes, 

Play chess, as then we played together. 

Robert Bulwer, Lord Lytton 
(^Oiven Meredith), 




»55 



This Is For Tou 



WHY? 

WHY came the rose ^ Because the 
sun, in shining, 
Found in the mould some atoms 
rare and fine ; 
And, stooping, drew and warmed them into 
growing,— 
Dust, with the spirit's mystic countersign. 

What made the perfume ? AH his wondrous 
kisses 

Fell on the sweet red mouth, till, lost to sight, 
The love became too exquisite, and vanished 

Into a viewless rapture of the night. 

Why did the rose die ? Ah, why ask the ques- 
tion ? 

There is a time to love, a time to give ; 
She perished gladly, folding close the secret 

Wherein is garnered what it is to live. 

Mary Louise Ritter. 

156 



'Jimmy's Wooing 



JIMMY'S WOOING 

THE wind came blowing out of the 
West, 
As Jimmy mowed the hay ; 
The wind came blowing out of the West ; 
It stirred the beech tree out of rest, 
And rocked the bluebird up in his nest, 
As Jimmy mowed the hay. 

The swallows skimmed along the ground. 

As Jimmy mowed the hay ; 
The swallows skimmed along the ground. 
And rustling leaves made a pleasant sound. 
Like children babbling all around. 

As Jimmy mowed the hay. 

Milly came with her bucket by. 

As Jimmy mowed the hay ; 
Milly came with her bucket by. 
With wee light foot so trim and sly, 
And sunburnt cheek and laughing eye. 

As Jimmy mowed the hay. 
157 



TChis Is For You 



A rustic Ruth in linsey gown ; 

And Jimmy mowed the hay ; 
A rustic Ruth in linsey gown, 
He watched the soft cheeks, changing brown, 
And the long dark lash that trembled down 

Whenever he looked that way. 

And Milly's heart was good as gold. 

As Jimmy mowed the hay ; 
Oh, Milly's heart was good as gold, 
But Jimmy thought her shy and cold, 
And more than that he had never told, 

As Jimmy mowed the hay. 

The wind came gathering up his bands. 

As Jimmy mowed the hay ; 
The wind came gathering up his bands. 
With the cloud and the lightning in his hands 
And a shadow darkening all the lands. 

As Jimmy mowed the hay. 

The rain came pattering down amain. 

Where Jimmy mowed the hay; 
The rain came pattering down amain. 
And under a thatch of the laden wain, 
Jimmy and Milly, a cosy twain. 

Sat sheltered by the hay. 

158 



"Jimmy's Wooing 



For Milly nestled to Jimmy's breast, 

Under the thatch of hay ; 
For Milly nestled to Jimmy's breast; 
A wild bird fluttering home to nest, 
And then, I swear, she looked her best 

Under the thatch of hay. 

And when the sun came laughing out. 

Over the ruined hay ; 
And when the sun came laughing out, 
Milly had ceased to pet and pout, 
And twittering birds began to shout 

As if for a Wedding Day. 

Will Wallace Harney. 




159 



This Is For Tou 



WHAT THE WOLF REALLY 

SAID TO LITTLE RED 

RIDING-HOOD 

WONDERING maiden, so puzzled 
and fair, 
Why dost thou murmur and ponder 
and stare ? 
'' Why are thy eyelids so open and wild ? " 
Only the better to see with, my child ! 
Only the better and clearer to view 
Cheeks that are rosy, and eyes that are blue. 

Dost thou still wonder, and ask why these arms 
Fill thy soft bosom with tender alarms ? 
Swaying so wickedly — are they misplaced. 
Clasping or shielding some delicate waist ? 
Hands whose coarse sinews may fill you with fear 
Only the better protect you, my dear ! 
i6o 



• 



What the Wolf Really Said 

Little Red Riding-Hood, when in the street 
Why do I press your small hand when we meet ? 
Why, when you timidly offered your cheek, 
Why did I sigh, and why did n't I speak ? 
Why, well, you see — if the truth must appear — 
I 'm not your grandmother, Riding-Hood, dear ! 

Francis Bret Harte. 




i6i 



This Is For You 



HOW STRANGE IT 
WILL BE 

HOW strange it will be, love — how 
strange, when we two 
Shall be what all lovers become ; 
You frigid and faithless, I cold and untrue — 
You thoughtless of me, and I careless of you — 
Our pet names grown rusty with nothing to do — 
Love's bright web unravelled, and rent, and 
worn through. 
And life's loom left empty — ah, hum ! 
Ah, me. 

How strange it will be ! 



I 



How strange it will be when the witchery goes. 

Which makes me seem lovely to-day ; 
When your thought of me loses its couleur de rose ; 
When every day serves some new thought to I 

disclose ; 

162 



How Strange It Will Be 

When you find I Ve cold eyes, and an every- 
day nose. 
And wonder you could for a moment suppose 
I was out of the commonplace way — 
Ah, me, 

How strange it will be ! 

How strange it will be, love — how strange, when 
we meet 
With just a chill touch of the hand ! 
When my pulses no longer delightedly beat 
At the thought of your coming, the sound of 

your feet — 
When I watch not your going, far down the 

long street; 
When your dear loving voice, now so thrillingly 
sweet. 
Grows harsh in reproach or command — 
Ah, me. 

How strange it will be ! 

How strange it will be, when we willingly stay 

Divided the weary day through ! 
Or, getting remotely apart as we may. 
Sit chilly and silent, with nothing to say, 
163 



This Is For Tou 



Or coolly converse on the news of the day, 
In a wearisome, old-married-folks sort of way ! 
I shrink from the picture — don't you ? 
Ah, me, 

How strange it will be ! 

Dear love, if our hearts do grow torpid and old, 

As many others have done ; 
If we let our love perish with hunger and cold, 
If we dim all life's diamonds, and tarnish its gold. 
If we choose to live wretched, and die unconsoled, 
'T will be strangest of all things that ever were 
told 
As happening under the sun ! 
Ah, me, 

How strange it will be ! 

Frank E. Holliday. 




164 



^he Old Story Over Again 



THE OLD STORY OVER 
AGAIN 



WHEN I was a maid. 
Nor of lovers afraid, 
My mother cried, " Girl, never listen 
to men." 
Her lectures were long. 
But I thought her quite wrong, 
And said I, " Mother, whom should I listen to, 
then ? " 

Now teaching, in turn. 

What I never could learn, 
I find, like my mother, my lessons all vain : 

Men ever deceive. 

Silly maidens believe. 
And still 't is the old story over again. 
i6s 



This Is For Ton 



So humbly they woo, 

What can poor maidens do 
But keep them alive when they swear they must 
die? 

Ah ! who can forbear, 

As they weep in despair. 
Their crocodile tears in compassion to dry ? 

Yet, wedded at last. 

When the honeymoon 's past. 
The lovers forsake us, the husbands remain : 

Our vanity 's checkM, 

And we ne'er can expect 
They will tell us the old story over again. 

James Henry. 




i66 



The Little Brown Cabin 



THE LITTLE BROWN 
CABIN 



I DREAM of it, tossing about in my skifF, 
The little brown cabin just under the 
clifF; 
The wild rose blown in at the window I see, 
And Rose at the door, looking out after me j 
My sweetheart, my wife, 

The Rose of mv life ! 

<t 

The sun in the doorway strikes gold from her 

hair ; 
The breeze fills the little brown house with salt 

air. 
And she leans to its breath, as if over the sea 
It were bringing a kiss and a message from me ; 
My pretty wild Rose, 
The sweetest that grows ! 

167 



This Is For You 



I have not one wish from my darling apart ; 
The thought of her sweetens my soul and my 

heart, 
And my boat like a bird flies across the blue sea 
To the little brown cabin where Rose waits for me. 
The Rose of my life. 
My own blessed wife ! 

Lucy Larcom. 




i68 



The Love-Knot 



THE LOVE-KNOT 

TYING her bonnet under her chin, 
She tied her raven ringlets in. 
But not alone in the silken snare 
Did she catch her lovely floating hair. 
For, tying her bonnet under her chin. 
She tied a young man's heart within. 

They were strolling together up the hill. 

Where the wind came blowing merry and chill ; 

And it blew the curls a frolicsome race, 

All over the happy peach-colored face. 

Till, scolding and laughing, she tied them in, 

Under her beautiful, dimpled chin. 

And it blew a color, bright as the bloom 
Of the pinkest fuchsia's tossing plume. 
All over the cheeks of the prettiest girl 
That ever imprisoned a romping curl. 
Or, in tying her bonnet under her chin, 
Tied a young man's heart within. 
169 



This Is For Tou 



i 



Steeper and steeper grew the hill, 
Madder, merrier, chiller still. 
The western wind blew down, and played 
The wildest tricks with the little maid. 
As, tying her bonnet under her chin. 
She tied a young man^s heart within. 

O western wind, do you think it was fair 

To play such tricks with her floating hair ? 

To gladly, gleefully, do your best 

To blow her against the young man's breast. 

Where he has gladly folded her in. 

And kissed her mouth and dimpled chin ? 

O Ellery Vane, you little thought, 
An hour ago, when you besought 
This country lass to walk with you, 
After the sun had dried the dew. 
What terrible danger you 'd be in. 
As she tied her bonnet under her chin. 

Nora Perry. 




170 



M 



Si, Do, Re 



SI, DO, RE 

SHE 's only a singin' a tune that he taught 
Is Evelyn Lee, the poor dairyman's 
daughter. 
Who taught 'er ? you ask. Why ! the singin' 

schoolmaster, 
Who always smiled sweetly whenever he passed 

her. 
And made her heart beat just a wee bit the faster. 
They say that she loves him ; be that as it may, 
Let her sing if she wants to ! Sol, fa, me, si, 
do, re ! 

The singin' school closed when the evenin's grew 

shorter. 
But still she keeps singin', the dairyman's daughter. 
She goes to her task with the first peep o' day. 
And whatever her thoughts may be, keeps singin' 

away — 

171 



"This Is For To 



u 



While changin' the milk into cheese, curd, and 

whey. 
They say that she 's lonesome \ be that as it 

may, 
Let her sing if she wants to ! Sol, fa, me, si, 

do, re ! 

Where 's the master, I wonder ? He *s gone, I 

suppose. 
He has n't ? What keeps him ? Look, look ! 

there he goes ! 
And sure as I live, there 's the dairyman's daughter, 
A saunterin' out for a pail o' fresh water. 
She sees him, and runs for the house, but he 's 
caught her 
And kissed her — and she — well, be that as 

it may. 
They '11 be married to-day, so they say. 
To-day ? You don't say ! Sol, fa, me, si, 
do, re ! 

Mrs. B. C. Rude. 



172 




My Eyes! How I Love You 



MY EYES! HOW I 
LOVE YOU 



MY eyes ! how I love you, 
You sweet little dove, you ! 
There 's no one above you. 
Most beautiful Kitty. 

So glossy your hair is, 
Like a sylph's or a fairy's ; 
And your neck, I declare, is 
Exquisitely pretty ! 

Quite Grecian your nose is. 
And your cheeks are like roses, 
So delicious — O Moses ! 
Surpassingly sweet ! 

Not the beauty of tulips. 
Nor the taste of mint juleps. 
Can compare with your two lips, 
Most beautiful Kate ! 
173 



T^his Is For Ton 



Not the black eyes of Juno, 
Nor Minerva's of blue, no, 
Nor Venus's, you know. 
Can equal your own. 

O, how my heart prances. 
And frolics and dances. 
When their radiant glances 
Upon me are thrown ! 

And now, dearest Kitty, 
It 's not very pretty. 
Indeed it 'sa pity. 

To keep me in sorrow ! 

So, if you '11 but chime in. 
We '11 have done with our rhyming 
Swap Cupid for Hymen, 
And be married to-morrow. 

John Godfrey Saxe. 




174 



Wifcy Children^ and Friends 



WIFE, CHILDREN, AND 
FRIENDS 

WHEN the black-lettered list to the 
gods was presented 
(The list of what Fate for each 
mortal intends), 
At the long string of ills a kind goddess relented, 
And slipped in three blessings — wife, chil- 
dren, and friends. 

In vain surly Pluto maintained he was cheated. 
For justice divine could not compass its ends ; 
The scheme of man's penance he swore was 
defeated, 
For earth becomes heaven with — wife, chil- 
dren, and friends. 

If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands 
vested. 
The fund, ill secured, oft in bankruptcy ends ; 
175 



This Is For Tou 



But the heart issues bills which are never pro- 
tested, 
When drawn on the firm of — wife, children, 
and friends. 

Though valor still glows in his life's dying 
embers. 
The death-wounded tar, who his colors de- 
fends. 
Drops a tear of regret as he dying remembers. 
How blessed was his home with — wife, chil- 
dren, and friends* 

The soldier, whose deeds live immortal in story. 
Whom duty to far distant latitude sends. 

With transport would barter whole ages of glory 
For one happy day with — wife, children, and 
friends. 

Though spice-breathing gales on his caravan 
hover. 
Though for him all Arabia's fragrance ascends, 
The merchant still thinks of the woodbines that 
cover 
The bower where he sat with — wife, children, 
and friends. 

176 



WifCy Children^ and Friends 

The dayspring of youth, still unclouded by 

sorrow. 
Alone on itself for enjoyment depends ; 
But drear is the twilight of age, if it borrow 
No warmth from the smile of — wife, children, 

and friends. 

Let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish 
The laurel which o'er the dead favorite bends ; 

O'er me wave the willow, and long may it flourish. 
Bedewed with the tears of — wife, children, and 
friends. 

Let us drink, for my song, growing graver and 
graver. 
To subjects too solemn insensibly tends ; 
Let us drink, pledge me high, love and virtue 
shall flavor 
The glass which I fill to — wife, children, and 
friends. 

William R. Spencer. 



11 177 




L 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

Page 

A good wife rose from her bed one mom . . . 144 

Along the garden ways just now 1 1 1 

Along the grass sweet airs are blown . . . 118 

Alter ? When the hills do 29 

Ask me not which of all my songs is thine ! . . 51 

As thro' the land at eve we went 83 

Beloved, the briefest words are best 2 

Beloved, those who moan of love's brief day . . 44 

Better to smell a violet 37 

Come to me, dearest, I 'm lonely without thee . 89 

«* Darling," he said, " I never meant " ... 41 

Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd 23 

Dearest, this one day our own 132 

Do you remember when you heard 150 

Fast falls the snow, O Lady mine ! 22 

First, I would give thee — nay, I may and will . 28 

Forenoon and afternoon and night, — Forenoon . 72 
*< Forget thee ? " If to dream by night, and muse 

on thee by day 58 

Genteel in personage ...151 

God's love and peace be with thee, where . . . 134 

Gone is the freshness of my youthful prime . . 52 

He rides away at early light 127 

He took in both hands her lovely head .... i * 
179 



y 



Index of First Lines 



Page 

How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways . 67 

How many summers, love 62 

How many times do I love thee, dear ? . . . 7 
How strange it will be, love — how strange, when 

we two 162 

I do not ask — dear love — not I 139 

I dream of it, tossing about in my skiff. . . . 167 

If all God' s world a garden were 57 

If I could write a book made sweet with thee . . 61 

If I desire with pleasant songs 65 

If in my soul, dear 116 

If love were what the rose is . . . . . . . 122 

If stores of dry and learned lore we gain ... 84 

If thou wert by my side, my love 95 

I knew by the smoke, that so gracefully curled . 108 

I know not if moonlight or starlight .... 78 
**I love you, dear ! '' and saying this . . . .27 

I pray that time full many years may bring . . 13 

I pray you, pardon me, Elsie 92 

I talk with you of foolish things and wise ... 42 

I think true love is never blind 20 

I thought it meant all glad ecstatic things ... 60 

It 's we two, it 's we two for aye 97 

It was our wedding-day 81 

I wandered by the brookslde 105 

I would not lose a single silvery ray .... 33 

Laura, my darling, the roses have blushed ... 75 

Let the sower scatter seed , 55 

Linger not long. Home is not home without thee 147 
180 



Index of First Lines 



Page 

Listen, darling, and tell me 49 

Love is a little golden fish 149 

Love is enough. Let us not seek for gold ... 85 

Love me for what I am. Love. Not for sake . . 141 

Love ? I will tell thee what it is to love ! . . . 30 

My eyes ! how I love you 173 

My heart is like a singing bird 64 

My little love, do you remember 154 

My love is far away from me to-night . . . . 10 1 

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his . . 80 

Not ours the vows of such as plight 5 

Oh, Love is not a summer mood 32 

Oh, Love is weak 39 

Oh! say not woman's heart is bought . . . . 113 

O, lay thy hand in mine, dear! 53 

O mistress mine, where are you roaming ? . . . 71 

O, sad are they who know not love i 

O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South . . . 125 

Pack clouds away, and welcome day .... 36 

Quoth he : " Sweetheart, thou art young and fair'* 129 

She had looked for his coming as warriors come . 137 

She is a winsome wee thing 19 

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes .... 46 

She's only a-singin' a tune that he taught 'cr . . 171 

Somebody 's courting somebody 142 

Sweetheart, good bye ! That fluttering sail . . 107 

Sweetheart, the year is young 120 

The bird to the nest and the bee to the comb . . 73 

The moth's kiss, first ! 16 

181 



Index of First Lines 



Page 

The night has a thousand eyes 15 

There is a garden in her face 4 

There's a woman like a dewdrop — she 's so purer 

than the purest 17 

These four gray walls are but the bodily shell . . 45 

The wind came blowing out of the west . . . 157 

The world goes up and the world goes down . . 43 

The world is naught till one is come .... 88 

Thou art as welcome as the summer rain ... 69 

Time may steal the dewy bloom ...... 14 

True Love is but a humble, low-bom thing . . 47 

Two things love can do 114 

Tying her bonnet under her chin 169 

We sit in the light of the dancing fire . . . . 102 

What shall I do for my love no 

What shall I do with all the days and hours . . 99 

When I was a maid 165 

When she comes home again ! A thousand ways 68 
When the black-lettered list to the gods was pre- 
sented 175 

When to the sessions of sweet, silent thought . . 70 

Wintry winds are blowing cold 87 

Why came the rose? Because the sun, in shining 156 

Why should I blush to own I love ? 133 

Wondering maiden, so puzzled and fair . . . . 160 

Yon window frames her like a saint 152 

Your wedding-ring wears thin, dear wife ; ah, 

summers not a few 8 



i8z 



OCT 6 1902 



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